


And The Forest Whispers

by glorifiedscapegoat



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Fandom Trumps Hate 2020, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 34,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorifiedscapegoat/pseuds/glorifiedscapegoat
Summary: As winter approaches, Shion uses his ties to the old gods to prepare himself for another season. His whole world tips on its head following the arrival of a strange, silver-eyed boy who lives in the forest.My contribution to the Fandom Trumps Hate event, gifted to sinewho.
Relationships: Nezumi/Shion (No. 6)
Comments: 100
Kudos: 81
Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinewho](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sinewho).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, I am able to begin posting my fic for my good friend **sinewho** from the Fandom Trumps Hate 2020 auction! Thank you for this prompt, and I really hope you like what I've done with it! I really enjoyed participating in the event, and I look forward to being able to do it again in the future!
> 
> (っ╹◡╹)っ⊂(╹ω╹⊂)

Watching the tiny red birds lifting into flight from the tree branches just outside his window, Shion knew the hunters were passing by his cabin.

He hurried away from the windows and waited for them to pass by. Shion never joined the town's hunting parties—lack of experience and a general lack of interest governed his decision to abstain—and he didn't feel like dealing with their aggravated sneers as they stalked through the woods past his property line.

Hidden inside his home, Shion could spot them through the thin curtains, though he knew they couldn't spot him. The flames of their torched rippled through the air as they stalked through the thick oak trunks, weapons in hand.

Shion clicked his tongue. Most of the townsfolk treated hunting as little more than sport. Though the meat was used and sold, the hunters often took more than their fair share. The forests provided them with enough food to be satisfied even in the harshest of winters, but the men and women of Kronos took without any consideration.

When at last the gray-cloaked hunters passed by his cabin, paying his bountiful gardens and little assortment of crops and latticed fences no mind, Shion allowed himself to finally relax.

His anxiety was not without reason. Shion was something of a legendary being in the town of Kronos—in the worst possible way. Whenever the hunters stalked by his home, Shion tensed, praying they wouldn't kick down his door again and drag him to the local church for another “witch test”.

With their departure into the woods, Shion no longer feared an assault. He wandered away from the windows and into the heart of the den. A gentle fire crackled under the copper pot where he'd mixed some fresh water from the nearby creek and a handful of herbs. Nothing went better with a pleasant autumn day than a hot cup of sage tea.

Shion adored his cabin. Branches grew through the windows and roof—the wooden slats had been built carefully around them, and Shion tended to them as best he could to ensure the health of the tree. Small purple asters grew through the pale floorboards, kept alive through the winter months by Shion's gentle hands.

He'd decorated the wooden walls of his single-room cabin with pretty shells he'd gathered from the pale beaches, colorful feathers from birds who'd nested in the branches comprising the majority of his cabin's roof, and pretty swatches of tapestries his mother had shipped him from overseas that Safu's talented grandmother had woven for him.

Shion's home was unlike any other building in the town of Kronos. Shion had situated his cabin far away from the others—it took a considerable length of time to walk from his front door to the church, built directly in the middle of Kronos. He didn't know if he could even consider his cabin to be part of Kronos at all; there were sections of forest surrounding both sides of the dirt road leading to the town, and Shion's house was surrounded on all four sides by thick trees and bushes.

Even if it was the topic of local rumors among the townsfolk, Shion loved his way of life. The only major downside was that he was often blamed for some of the raids and misfortunes that befell Kronos. When a particularly bad rainstorm scattered debris from the forest into the crop fields, ruining much of the tomatoes and carrot plants, the farmers accused Shion of having collaborated with sinister spirits—despite the fact that he offered them unlimited access to his own backyard crops for sustenance. Only a trial in which Shion recited the Scriptures flawlessly had absolved him of blame; the widows housed in the corner of Kronos slammed their doors as he walked by, however, and the men muttered curses under their breath as he hurried home.

But despite the accusations and rumors, Shion had passed all their tests. He could repeat their prayers with ease. He attended church every seventh day, as did every other able-bodied townsman. Shion didn't balk at sprinkles of holy water or shift uncomfortably within the church walls.

He had endured their ridicule and tests since the moment he stepped off the boat, and without any solid proof of witchery, the townsfolk did nothing but shun him in most contexts. Shion didn't mind. He had no interest in the men's social circles or public events. He had no stomach for drinking, nor an appetite for women. He was content to dwell in his home, tend to his small assortment of crops, and live his life as comfortably as he could.

Shion gave the herbal concoction in the copper pot a gentle stir, mixing the herbs within. He inhaled the fresh scents and exhaled, content. It had been steeping long enough. He picked up the slotted ladle, dipped it into the pot, and poured himself a small cup of sage tea.

Shion poured himself a small cup of sage tea. He breathed in the warm, herbal scents and relaxed. Sometimes, when he was in the mood for something a little on the sweeter side, he'd add a nip of honey. There was a tiny beehive tucked in the farthest corner of his cabin. The honeybees that called it home pollinated the flowers growing through the floorboards and buzzed around gently in the spring. Shion harvested some of their honey when he desired it, but he was careful not to disturb the hive or the queen nesting within.

He'd never once been stung in his attempts. The bees respected him, in the same manner he respected them. Sometimes their little wings kissed his cheeks when he woke in the early mornings; they alighted on his arms and crawled about while he worked in the den, their tiny feet tickling his skin.

Shion crossed the room and looked back out the window. The autumn branches crossing the forest sent beautiful cascades of sunlight across the ground. The hunters often ventured into the woods in the late morning, and Shion knew they would cross back this way once the sun began to descend.

He exhaled and opted to enjoy his tea in the meantime. He had a long day of work ahead of him.

**⁂**

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with dark shades of pink and orange, Shion heard the telltale crunch of heavy boots on dead leaves.

He lifted his head and glanced over his shoulder. He had returned to the inside of his cottage once the sun started heading south. His nighttime work was better performed inside the safety of wooden walls, and for the most part, he’d passed much of his day toiling beneath the autumn sunlight.

Shion rolled his sleeves down, having shoved them up his forearms to protect them from the dirt as he carefully relocated a few fresh blooms from his floorboards to the gardens outside. He’d spent much of the day tending to his crops, watering the flowers, and sprinkling seed for the birds before they began their flight to lands far away for the winter months.

He wiped his hands clean on a scrap of ratty brown fabric and returned to the far window, watching through the cluster of leaves as the townsmen made their way out of the blackened forest. The cool autumn wind ruffled their cloaks and made the flames on their torches pitch and sway.

Their rucksacks were empty, and their weapons were unbloodied. The haunted looks on their faces assured Shion that the worst had happened—their attempted hunt had proved fruitless.

Shion exhaled, a mixture of relief and pity warring in his chest. He didn’t appreciate the men hunting purely for sport, but he understood the misery of returning from a hunt empty-handed. With the winter months approaching, acquiring food and furs became a priority. The forests grew treacherous when the snow coated the ground, deep holes covered by thin layers of ice lurking deep within.

More than that, the Mao dwelled in the heart of the forests, better equipped to survive the harsh winters than the men and women of Kronos.

Since crossing the ocean and stepping onto solid land in this new place, Shion had heard rumors of the Mao. The forest folk dwelled deep in the heart of the forests, their very nature intertwined with the rumored creatures that stalked the shadowed branches.

A few of the men believed the Mao to be simply nothing more than a rumor. An old wives’ tale to scare children away from the woods. A little band of nomads who threatened violence in the form of curses and punishment from spirits. Shion had never crossed paths with them in his couple of years living at the cottage, not even when the harsh winters forced himself inside for over a month, but just because he hadn’t seen them didn’t mean they didn’t exist.

He watched the men hobble near the fence surrounding his gardens. Shion exhaled, plucked a candle from the table, lit it, and tossed on a cloak.

Better to get it over with.

The hunters stared back at him, their dark eyes wary as if they beheld a fearsome spirit. Shion climbed down the stairs, carrying a small red candle to illuminate the steps. He shielded the little ember from the wind with his palm.

“Well met,” he greeted cheerfully.

Yoming grunted and pushed the hood of his cloak back. His weathered face peered back at Shion, his dark eyes shimmering in the candlelight. Yoming rose a head taller than Shion, but Shion peered into his face without an ounce of terror. He'd stopped fearing Yoming years ago; though he often led the men of Kronos around like a shepherd to a flock of sheep, he had no real authority.

“Well met,” Yoming grumbled in return.

Shion looked at their empty packs and blood-free spears. “No luck this evening?”

“No luck, witch.”

Shion closed his eyes at the nickname and forced back a sigh. It wouldn't do him any good; the insults fell from their tongues like water, and sometimes he wondered if the men even realized they'd said them.

“In that case, as before,” Shion said, loudly enough for the little band to hear him, “you are welcome to my garden.”

Yoming's dark eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he said nothing. Shion turned and ascended the stairs. The carefully placed wood groaned with each step, and the uncomfortable silence stretched out behind him like a black cloak.

It wasn't until he began to shut his cabin door that he heard the ruffle of gray cloaks wandering carefully into his garden.

Despite their obvious disdain for him, Shion couldn't help the warmth that swelled in his chest. He didn't worry about their callused fingers plucking through his crops. The men never took more than they needed to feed their families for the night. Shion's dark reputation typically dissuaded thieves, and even those skeptical of the rumors seemed loath to attempt it.

They didn't thank him for his charity—they never did—but Shion supposed not kicking down his door and dragging him back to the church for another witch trial was thanks enough.

He went to the cauldron and quickly reignited the fire beneath. The scent of herbs flickered to life as he gave the still water a gentle stir with the ladle. In the winter months, he often offered a cup to each of the hunters, though they never took him up on that offer. The men were only comfortable enough to take the crops from his gardens. Taking “brews” from him, however, seemed a step too far.

Shion unfastened his cloak, hung it from the little wooden hook fastened to the back of the door, and crossed to the center of the den.

He waited, still and silent, until he heard the tell-tale crunch of the hunters heading for Kronos with their bounty. He exhaled with relief, letting the terror melt away.

He was safe another night.

**⁂**

Shion watched the moon make its way across the inky sky. The chittering of nighttime insects and birds created a beautiful rhythm that filled the air in his cottage. The glimmering moonlight cast pretty shadows across the floorboards, lighting the lavender petals of the tiny aster buds carefully growing between the slats and the fresh soil. He smiled as he took in the warmth of his home.

Midnight was a special time, both for Shion and the world around him. He gently smothered the few candles he’d lit when the sun dipped beneath the tall mountains. The skies turned a beautiful shade of indigo, peppered with tiny pinpricks of silver.

He preferred the light from the full moon when it came to these rituals. Shion inhaled, breathing in the crisp scents of the flowers. He sat in the center of the den, listening to the sounds of the forest coming alive in the shadows. Foxes conversed in the distance, the hoots of owls calling out to their companions echoing around him. The world of the night were a different realm—one that Shion loved walking along.

Shion's fingers shifted unconsciously as he thought of the charms and spells he needed to weave before winter. The hunters didn't pass by his cabin as often when the temperatures dropped, which allowed Shion to work his magic without the chance of being spotted by the townsfolk.

His charms weren't particularly powerful, but they kept the chill out of his cabin. His enchantments kept his crops growing within the protection of his cabin's wooden walls; they kept the animals calm and happy as they ventured inside.

Shion exhaled, slowly, and let the spiritual energy twist through him.

Until winter, he would sit here, each night, and braid charms to hang in the windows. He would whisper enchantments to bring about good fortune to himself, pleading with the powers that thrived above to let his garden remain fruitful so he wouldn't starve in the cold. He pulled the charms tight, trapping the enchantments within the braided cords, and tucked them safely beneath his cot. He had no need of them until the first snowfall.

Sitting beside his window, Shion glanced outside and watched the world move. The shadows stretched across the branches, and a large horned owl perched on one of them, peering into Shion's cabin with piercing gold eyes.

He smiled at the bird of prey and let it continue to supervise his enchantments. Owls were the rumored symbol of the old gods, and Shion chose to believe their presence to be a sign of the old gods' approval.

He finished a couple more temperature-controlling charms and then retired to his cot. He drew back the paper-thin blanket and quickly climbed beneath them. The cool autumn air tickled his cheeks as it drifted through the gaps in the oak boards and roof, and Shion sighed, content.

As he slipped into the world of dreams, he let the song of the forests whisper to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everybody! Here's the second chapter of this fic. 3
> 
> I'm so grateful to everyone who commented on the first chapter, and how many of you seemed excited about the direction it was going. I'm eager to share the rest of it with you, and I really appreciate every single one of you. w
> 
> As I'm sure some of you are aware, I've been stuck in my apartment waiting for a result to a COVID-19 test. I've been exhausted the past week and haven't really been able to drag myself out of bed, hence the huge gap between these chapters. I'm feeling a wee bit better at the moment, so here I am posting the chapter while I have the energy!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter!

The early morning forest came alive with the sound of birdsong.

Nezumi crouched in one of the large tree branches, concealed from view by the thick bushel of emerald leaves. He'd trekked out to the hunting spot well before the sun began to peek above the horizon, painting the sky with splashes of salmon pink and gold. The hunters from the foreign village on the outskirts of the forest didn't come out at this time of day—they preferred to hunt at midday and well into the night, foolishly believing it would provide them with the best catch.

Nezumi shifted and peered out at the clearing. His vantage point from the crook of the large tree branch gave him a perfect view of anything that wandered within range of his bow and arrows.

With winter fast approaching, Nezumi had limited time to prepare for another cold season. The Mao village, nestled deep within the heart of the forest and well-hidden from the strange men and women thriving from overseas, had already gathered up their crops and begun work to dehydrate and keep them fresh for when the temperatures dropped.

The outsider village― _Kronos_ , Nezumi had been told by the Maoese elders—and its inhabitants didn't risk wandering into the heart of the forest, through the patches where the sunlight didn't reach. Too frightened of creatures that lurked in the shadows, they hadn't risked hunting through the dense shadows, and therefore had never stumbled upon the location of the Mao village.

The Mao village sat on the other side of the shadowed areas, perfectly situated beneath the sunlight and surrounded by fresh, life-giving water. Walled on all four sides by thick tree trunks and tall bushes, the Mao tribe had lived for centuries without fear of raids.

The arrival of the bizarre men and women from across the ocean had been a bit of a cause for concern, but their superstitions erased any threat they might have caused. The villagers of Kronos feared the mystery of the Mao, so much so that they'd created their own rumors about what creatures thrived in the heart of the forests.

Nezumi flexed his fingers; his knuckles ached from clenching around his bow, his sharp eyes seeking a flicker of movement in the clearing.

There were strips of bark missing from the tree trunks, a telltale sign of deer markings. The forests swelled with life—fat does and their fawns danced through the thick branches, and large-horned bucks strutted through the fields in search of food.

Nezumi shivered as a chill danced down his spine. The winter winds steadily approached, and the frost was not far behind.

He shoved aside the dread that pooled in his stomach at the inevitable arrival of winter and focused on the task at hand. When the heavy snow coated the land, he'd need to spend much of his time indoors. He'd gone through plenty of winters—eighteen, to be precise—and he knew that, in order to thrive, he'd have to catch and dry enough meat to start him off well.

His morning trek through the darkness as the sun began to rise had given him a clear indication that today's hunt would prove fruitful. The wail of birds alerted him to the presence of deer not too far away. Nezumi had muttered a brief prayer to the old gods before he'd slung his bow over his shoulder and set off, knowing that it might prove useless but continuing the practice regardless.

Since childhood, Nezumi had no faith that the old gods cared for him and his tribe. They'd blessed the Mao with a plentiful spot to raise their village, to birth offspring and thrive well into the generations, but nothing more. The old gods removed themselves from the lives of the Mao as quickly as they'd entered it, and yet the elders believed in offering them prayers and sacrifices to keep the peace.

The old gods might have abandoned them, but it was possible they still expected worship.

Nezumi shut his eyes and breathed in the morning frost. A delicate layer of white had settled on the edge of the brilliant leaves; it would vanish once the sun rose to the middle of the sky, casting its brilliant, buttery rays on the world below. A sign that winter loomed on the horizon, but that there was still time to evade the wrath of its frozen grasp.

He anticipated that the villagers of Kronos would soon stop hunting in the forests, and that would leave the best of the hunt for the Mao. Nezumi was privy to the tales the foreign villagers told about his tribe: the Mao were spiritual folk who shifted into mist and snatched away unsuspecting children from their beds. He didn't mind. If the rumors kept them away from his home, then Nezumi didn't care if he was painted as some kind of monster.

Nezumi exhaled, watching his breath swirl in tiny spindrifts above his head. From his vantage point in the trees, the deer wouldn't spot him unless he made noise. Nezumi kept himself as quiet as a mouse, his movements ghost-like and gentle as he eased himself into a more comfortable position to wait. He had the whole day to sit here and wait for a kill to foolishly cross into his path.

Something creaked in the distance—the sound of a twig snapping beneath a foot—and Nezumi shot to attention.

He slowly reached for an arrow, instinct instructing him to wait and survey the prey as it approached. He brushed the tips of his fingers against the feathers of the arrow, the shafts carved with his own two hands and the stone heads purchased from a woman in the Mao village who foolishly traded a handful of furs for enough arrows to fell a small army.

The bushes parted as the deer stepped into view—

Wait.

No.

Not a deer.

Nezumi reeled as he watched a young man gently wander through the clearing. A long, dark brown cloak clung to his shoulders, drifting behind him in the gentle gusts of wind. He was short, not as tall as the average men of the Mao tribe, and thin as a bone. Not unhealthily so, but enough for it to be striking.

Nezumi ducked behind the emerald leaves and peered through the gaps. Who the hell _was_ this kid, and _why_ was he out so early?

He narrowed his eyes and watched the young man sink down in the center of the field. His cloak pooled around him, obscuring most of his body from view. Nezumi didn't like not being able to get a solid look at him. This... stranger had ventured far from the security of Kronos, and he couldn't have come from the Mao tribe. Nezumi knew every single man, woman, and child that lived within the protective walls of the Mao village. This boy was someone entirely different—a fundamental other whose mere presence both terrified Nezumi and intrigued him.

Nezumi's fingers froze on his arrows, but he didn't withdraw them. He didn't fancy wasting his time killing someone who didn't deserve it, but if this stranger proved himself to be a threat, it wouldn't take but a moment to kill him. An arrow to the back of the skull would drop him in an instant; Nezumi had a clear shot at him from his spot in the tree branches.

He exhaled, softly, and watched.

The young man began humming a quiet tune to himself, an old melody Nezumi didn't recognize. He had a small pouch draped across his shoulder; Nezumi could see it as the young man shoved his cloak aside to undo the flap. The stitching looked crude and amateur, but effective enough.

As he hummed, the young man began to gather a few small pebbles from the ground. He reached out and plucked tiny leaves, flowers, and patches of moss, too, setting them gently inside the protection of the pouch.

 _He's gathering herbs_. Nezumi watched the young man's fingers swiftly pluck the materials from the earth, smoothing out the soil with his fingertips. Not his first time coming this far into the forest, Nezumi realized, a chill dancing down his spine. The speed at which the young man moved as he gathered the materials made it painfully clear that he'd been out in these parts of the forest before, and he knew damn well what he was looking for.

Herb gathering was nothing new. Nezumi himself had done it on more than a few occasions, though he preferred to spend his time doing more productive things. Any herbs he needed could be purchased from folks in his village who dedicated themselves to the pursuit of medicinal herbs and spices. It shouldn't have unsettled him that this young man had come out to gather materials.

Except... it did.

The herbs and stones the young man harvested were easily accessible on the ridge of Kronos. To venture so far out of the way—approaching the thick shadows and the tales of monsters that roamed within the heart of the forest—meant the young man didn't want to be spotted gathering these herbs.

 _Interesting_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excellent news, everyone! My test results came back, and they were negative. I am COVID free! My doctor believes it was a very bad chest cold, which, given that I have severe asthma, would put me out of commission for awhile.
> 
> I'm back to work now, and that means that I finally have enough energy to get back to posting this fic and my other ones! I'm excited to post the next chapters of this fic, and I hope that you all enjoy it!

The sun had risen to the middle of the sky by the time Shion returned to his cabin.

Dirt sat beneath his nails, a testament to the success of his harvest. His chest buzzed with a mixture of warmth and excitement as he thought about the bounty of charms he could weave with the flowers and moss he'd gathered.

The world around him bled with bright greens and pale browns as Shion stepped into the protective comfort of his garden and closed the tiny gate behind him. He didn't bother to latch it; it didn't matter. He never worried about intruders; his charms warded off greedy fingers and mouths, and the rumors about his witchcraft kept the villagers of Kronos away.

Shion swept into his cabin and clicked the heavy door shut behind him. It was like striding into a new world—the air beyond the security of his cabin was crisp and cool with the approach of winter, but in the charm-infused comfort of Shion's home, the scents of spring lingered eternally. He smiled up at the little bees that flitted away from the delicate blossoms and into their hive.

He removed his cloak and hung it from the small hook on the back of his door. Shion clapped his hands together, eager to get started on his charms.

When winter came, the world beyond would be blanketed in thick snow, and Shion would have to keep his windows blocked with massive curtains. The several villagers brave enough to venture outside in the frigid cold were a risk to his way of life; if the wrong set of eyes happened to peer through his window and spot the spring flowers and warmth beyond, Shion's reputation as a witch would gain validity.

He'd survived several winters in Kronos without getting caught. Even so, Shion knew better than to let his guard down. He'd been dragged to the church too many times to feel completely safe.

A single slip-up could cost him his life.

He took a calming breath. There would be plenty of time to worry about the other villagers and their possible punishments later. For now, he had a hefty amount of work ahead of him.

Shion set to work weaving the flower stalks and moss into charms to keep the warmth within his home. His fingers worked swiftly, shaping the smooth, delicate stalks into loops that interlocked. The tiny buds added splashes of color—blues and dark purples and whites—among the sea of green and brown, and the soft blossoms would add tiny snippets of spring warmth to the air within his cabin once he hung them on the walls and suspended them in the windows.

It was easy work, in a sense, but time-consuming. Each charm held only a small amount of power. To warm his cabin for the duration of winter, without needing to light a fire for anything other than cooking, Shion would need to weave enough charms to completely decorate the walls of the cabin. The stray sunlight that hit the blossoms would react to the combination of natural elements, touched with hints of Shion's magic, and release their energy.

For a couple of the charms, Shion would add an additional touch of magic to grant them luminescence. When the sun went down and the world plunged into darkness, a peppering of the blossoms would light up, lighting Shion's cabin up enough for him to see comfortably.

The gentle lights made it easy enough to sleep. As if they sensed when Shion slept and relaxed, the lights would dim just enough to cast a pretty glow of whites and blues across the wooden furniture. He supposed it made sense—Shion's magic wove into the flowers, therefore connecting him to their light.

The charms would survive through winter, and then Shion would have to let them go. The energy sources weren't eternal. Shion could only suspend the decaying process, but not halt it entirely. During the first days of spring, Shion gathered the weakened charms, brought them to the middle of the forest, and unwound them, whispering his thanks and releasing the magic as he did so. He chose not to drop the clumps in the middle of the forests still bound, worried that someone would find the charms and recognize them for what they were.

Shion pressed his lips together as he worked.

The Mao might have recognized the charms for what they were. Shion had been fortunate enough not to cross paths with any of the Mao. He'd heard the rumors and the stories from the villagers whenever he ventured into Kronos to attend church; he didn't know if he should believe them, since the villagers enjoyed their gossip, but he couldn't deny that the stories frightened him.

Shion had a bit of magical knowledge—enough to work charms, protect his crops, and warm his cottage—but it was nothing compared to what the Mao could do. In the tales, the Mao were connected to the old gods in strange ways. Some said that the Mao had originated from the old gods, brought into the world with divine and wicked blood in their veins. While Shion could manipulate magic, the Mao could _produce_ it. The stories claimed the Mao breathed magic; it coursed through their veins as surely as blood.

If the stories were true, then Shion was fortunate he'd never crossed paths with one.

He set aside a charm—a pile had steadily formed beside him, the work mechanic and second-nature to him by this point—and swallowed a swell of guilt. He felt bad for his fear of the Mao. Shion had never met one, so he had no proof that they were dangerous.

Fearing them was no different than the villagers of Kronos assuming he was evil because they believed he dabbled with witchcraft. He did utilize magic, but Shion had never dreamed of harming someone with it. He didn't even know how he could accomplish it if he wanted to! He'd never bothered to investigate blood magic, and the thought of cursing someone made him sick to his stomach.

Shion closed his eyes and shoved the thoughts aside. It bothered him, and he had work to do.

He didn't need to worry about it now.

**⁂**

By the time Shion finished weaving the charms, the sun had made a deep swing across the sky. Not quite twilight, but sometime shortly before. The darkness would come sooner than anticipated—the approach of winter always caught Shion off guard, when the sky darkened earlier than he'd believed it might.

He exhaled, pleased with his work, and rose from the ground. His spine popped as he stretched; Shion groaned, his limbs stiff and sore. He extended his fingers, working out the tension that came from hours of weaving charms.

Shion strode across the room, over to the windows. When winter fell and the charms were hung, Shion would hang the thick black drapes up and completely block out any views into his cottage. It had never caused him any issues. The villagers from Kronos didn't like venturing out in the blistering cold, aside to attend church, but in the rare event someone did wander toward Shion's cabin, seeing the black drapes over the windows didn't raise any alarms. Most of them assumed the curtains were to keep the warmth inside.

His stomach growled, and Shion realized it was time for some dinner.

He'd made himself a quick breakfast before the sun rose that morning, before he'd bundled up and headed out into the forests. Shion gathered some of the herbs he'd plucked from the forest floor and set to work cleaning them. He had a bucket of water near the front door that he'd gathered earlier. Once he used it, he'd pour the contents onto his crops.

For Shion, today was just like every other.

Until it wasn't.

As he turned with the bucket of water, silty from cleaning the herbs and vegetables he'd set aside for soup, Shion spotted someone standing outside his fence.

His throat went dry.

He couldn't tell if the person standing just beyond his fence was a man or a woman—or if they were even _human_. They stood, shadowed against the glow of the lowering sun, dressed in a dark cloak with a heavy hood that concealed their face from view. Slung over their shoulder was a large wooden bow, delicately etched with symbols Shion only vaguely recognized. Alongside the bow was a quiver packed with arrows; Shion didn't need to see the tips to know they were crafted of stone, and likely poisoned.

Shion stood by the curtains, his blood chilling.

He'd never encountered a member of the Mao tribe before.

He didn't know how he knew this stranger belonged to the Mao tribe—but it seemed to click the moment Shion laid eyes on them. Shion stared out the window, the bucket of water growing heavier in his hands.

And then the stranger lifted their head, and a pair of silver eyes flashed out from the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's the next chapter to the fic!
> 
> I'm really happy with this chapter, mostly because it's the first time that the boys meet. ^w^ We're always big fans of their interactions, meetings or otherwise, and that's awesome.
> 
> I hope you all love it!

Shion considered pretending he wasn't home.

He thought of stepping away from the window, curling beneath the thick blankets spread over his little bed, and pretending he hadn't seen the silver-eyed stranger standing outside his fence. He didn't think the stranger would approach his cabin and burst the door down.

Although, Shion couldn't figure out what someone from the Mao tribe would want with him. The symbols on the stranger's bow were those associated with charms and magic; everything about them matched the stories Shion had heard about the Mao tribe. If the Mao were as connected to magical energy as the stories claimed, then the stranger already knew Shion was inside.

He exhaled and tried to relax. Perhaps the stranger wasn't here to cause him harm. If the Mao were indeed connected with magic, as the rumors claimed, then perhaps the stranger had approached as a kindred spirit, drawn to the magical energy resonating from the charms Shion had painstakingly woven. Perhaps the stranger was merely curious as to who'd patched them together.

Shion clenched his hands around the handle of the water bucket and set it down gently. There wasn't any use in pretending he wasn't home if the stranger could sense him inside. In fact, it would be quite rude to keep a potential guest waiting.

He wandered to the door, snatched his cloak off the hook, and tossed it around his shoulders. With the approaching chill in the air, his guest wouldn't think it suspicious for him to come outside with it on. Shion made certain his hands were plainly visible and empty, displaying that he didn't have any weapons, and opened the door.

He squinted into the sunlight. The sky retained its blue color, though the sun had begun its descent toward the mountains. Soon it would be replaced with smears of purple and pink, and then shadows would engulf the land and plunge it into the night.

Shion spotted the stranger. They'd taken a step back as Shion opened the door, but they hadn't retreated into the forests from which they'd manifested. The silver flash of their quicksilver eyes darted to Shion's hands—as Shion had anticipated they might. Once the stranger confirmed that Shion had no weapon in hand, or anywhere on his person, their gaze returned to his face.

Beneath the shadows of the dark hood, Shion could only make out the distinct lines of a heart-shaped face. He couldn't discern the stranger's age or gender from the shadows scattered across their features, obscuring their nose, mouth, and general facial structure, but he _could_ see pale skin—much paler than Shion had seen on the folks living in Kronos.

“Well met, stranger,” Shion greeted.

The stranger inclined their head at the sound of Shion's voice, and replied, “Not wise to open your door to a stranger, is it?”

Their voice brushed over Shion like the wings of a delicate bird. He shivered at the almost musical note to it. It was distinctively a male's voice, and there was a sharpened edge to it that Shion recognized from his time spent around the men and women of Kronos.

The stranger didn't trust him.

“Perhaps not,” Shion allowed. “Well, then, it's nice to meet you. My name's Shion.” He gave the stranger a big smile that he hoped was friendly and not mistakenly suspicious. “There. Now we aren't strangers.”

For a moment, the air between them was silent.

“You're odd.”

Shion’s smile dropped.

The hooded figure went on, “A stranger shows up and your first instinct is to welcome them with open arms and then give them your name?”

“That's the _polite_ thing to do,” Shion grumbled.

They clicked their tongue.

“...Will you please tell me your name, so this doesn't get uncomfortable?”

“No.”

Shion frowned.

“You can,” the hooded figure went on, “however, call me Nezumi. That's as good a name as any.”

Shion rolled the name around in his skull like a loose stone. _Nezumi_. A strange name that didn't seem to fit the stranger's otherworldly presence and mysterious aura. Roughly translated, the name meant 'rat'. Shion figured it must have been a nickname; the Mao were rumored to be hesitant to give out their true names, believing that the trading of such opened them to the risk of curses.

Shion had never been concerned with name or blood magic. He knew plenty of true names, but had never thought of using them to cause harm. He handed his own out because it held no risks. No one in Kronos could wield magic the way Shion could—even those born with magical inclinations had never experimented with it, and the energy had dulled to a weak buzz, like over-diluted broth. Shion's name was safe in their care, even if they might have harbored ill intent toward him.

"Well met, Nezumi," Shion greeted.

Nezumi inclined their head by way of greeting.

Something about Shion must have been disarming, because Nezumi reached up and removed their hood. The setting sunlight cast a beautiful assortment of golden light across their features, and Shion felt his mouth go dry. Nezumi was beautiful and feminine—but Shion knew, in that instant, that Nezumi was male. His face, pale and narrow, looked like something from another world. A god descended to the mortal plane, though no human skin could conceal the inhuman loveliness of his features.

Shion's heart stuttered. He glanced down as his face heated up. Shion had always had an affiliation for men. Women had never interested him—no one had ever really caught his attention, not in the way Shion expected they should—but he'd found that his affiliation leaned more toward men. Nezumi's loveliness struck him like a knife to the gut, and Shion felt his blood burning beneath his skin.

"Um," he said dumbly.

Nezumi lifted his head, and Shion's heart stopped for a second time.

His irises were silver.

Not a human shade of grey like a pale blue or a dusty green—but _silver_. The edge of a freshly sharpened blade glinting in the sunlight. Thunderstorms trapped beneath a pane of crystal glass. Nezumi's beautiful eyes danced over Shion's face, not reacting to the obvious shock and awe plastered across his face.

"Ah," Shion said, backpedaling from the shock twisting through his body. "Would, ah, would you like to come inside?" He gestured quickly to the door behind him. "I was just about to make soup."

Nezumi raised an eyebrow. "And risk walking right into one of your snares?" He scoffed. "I’m not an idiot."

Shion bolted from his episode of unease and furrowed his brow. He was familiar with the concept of snares. He'd understood the basic function of them, but as they were blood-based magic and curse work, Shion had never invested time in them. Snares were a trap meant to punish trespassers, and Shion never found a need for them. If the villagers in Kronos believed him to be a threat now, it would certainly solidify his reputation as an evil witch if he started setting wicked snares to punish stray fingers in his gardens.

"I don't have snares," Shion told Nezumi carefully.

Nezumi glanced at the gardens—the beautifully crafted expanses where Shion had carefully laid out his crops and little baubles of flowers—and the delicate fences surrounding them. "You should probably get some," he said. He jerked his chin over his shoulder, in the direction of the village. "I doubt your friends are thrilled to have a witch living in the premises."

Shion smiled gently. "They don’t have proof that I’m a witch."

"You don’t hide it well."

"Perhaps not." Shion brushed his fingertips along the wooden door frame of his cabin. The whole thing had taken a great deal of time to put together, but his ties to nature magic had helped. The wood shifted easily beneath his hands, his tools always sharp enough and his lines straight enough to properly structure the home. "Then again," Shion went on, giving Nezumi a knowing look, "they don't know how to sense magic the way _you_ do, now do they?"

Nezumi's beautiful silver eyes narrowed, and Shion felt a chill settle around him. He wondered if his assumptions about the Mao tribe were completely unfounded. He'd allowed stories and fears to warp his sense of belief about a tribe he knew nothing about, and Shion felt a sickness twist beneath his skin.

He opened his mouth to apologize, and Nezumi flexed his fingers. "I might be able to sense your magic," he explained, "but that doesn't mean it's a wise idea to perform it so blatantly."

Shion's shoulders relaxed. "I always do it inside." He glanced over at his fences, smiling at the little runes he'd carved into the wood. They effectively warded off wild animals who might have nibbled on his crops and flowers. "I've been doing this for a few years now. No one's managed to spot me."

"Years, eh?" Nezumi's lip quirked up at the corner. "And before that?"

Shion's smile dropped. Before that, he'd been strictly in hiding. Shion's foray into magic began in his childhood, but he'd been careless with his experiments. He'd been spotted on a few occasions twisting charms that were identified right off as "witch symbols". Shion had been hauled to the church, even as a child, and viciously questioned about his ties to the dark forces.

Sobbing and terrified, Shion assured the priests that he hadn't done anything wrong. He recited the Scriptures as loud as he could, repeated them through tears and mucus until his throat ran dry, and finally hurried home with his mother after she'd managed to convince them that putting a _child_ through such torments was cruel and unusual.

Shion continued to work with magic, but he'd kept it quiet. The energies called to him, no matter where he went. He couldn't deny his connection to the animals that drifted beside him, or his love for the plants that seemed to grow better beneath his mitigation than even the most experienced farmers.

When Shion left on the boat, his mother had tried to stop him. She'd assured him that he could continue to live his life without harm, and she'd do whatever it took to protect him.

But Shion couldn't continue to bear the glares the neighbors cast toward his mother. He couldn't bear seeing the way his mother's bakery began to fail simply because customers were too afraid of him to venture inside. On the days where Shion didn't help, Karan's business boomed. But the bakery was a lot of work to maintain on her own, and Karan liked to keep it in the family.

Fortunately, Shion had managed to get his friend Safu to help Karan in the bakery once he left. His mother wept when he told her what he intended, but she understood. She wished him well, kissed his forehead, and told him to write as often as he could.

Shion couldn't have been happy living overseas the way he had. He couldn't be happy with the tall buildings and the massive structures cutting him off from the sources of energy he needed to thrive. He felt guilty leaving his mother, but he'd left her in good hands, and her blessings had followed him in the form of beautifully written letters and gifts she'd scrounged together.

"Another time, perhaps," Shion mumbled.

Nezumi, for all his strangeness, seemed to understand the shift in tone. He nodded, once, and turned back toward the forests. His black cloak drifted in the wind, and Shion noticed how tall he was. Not much taller than Shion, but enough for it to be notable. He wore a solid pair of black boots, perfectly crafted for the winter months. Etched on the heels were symbols that Shion recognized as runes of silence, intended to help the wearer reduce the sound they made when walking.

"Perhaps," he allowed.

He drifted into the forest like a shadow. He drew his hood up, tucking his dark hair beneath it. In an instant he bled from human into a shadow that vanished into the depths of the forests. It was only then that Shion realized the sun had begun dipping beneath the horizon, steadily plunging the world into the darkness of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And once again, another chapter!
> 
> No worries that Nezumi left in the previous chapter; he'll be coming back in this one! However, the way in which he'll be coming back will be a bit... hectic, I suppose. You'll all have to see what happens!
> 
> Enjoy the chapter, everyone!

The first snowflake of winter was the same color as Nezumi's eyes.

Shion caught it in the palm of his hand when he worked out in his garden, covering his crops with thick fabric to shield them from the impending snowfall and wrapping their stalks with small charms of warmth. His magic would be more than enough to keep them sustained through even the harshest cold, refueling them for another bountiful harvest when the weather improved.

The tiny silver flake landed in the center of Shion's palm, resting in the crease stretching across his palm. His eyes traced the beautiful patterns, the loops and swirls that held the snowflake together. It only lasted a moment—the heat from Shion's skin melted the flake almost as quickly as it arrived—but the memory of its beauty imprinted itself in Shion's memory.

He smiled. Winter could be a difficult time for him if he didn't take the time to prepare. The snow held its own sort of blustery magic, and Shion had never been able to harness it. Winter was a wild, unpredictable thing, as quick to smother and destroy as it was to dust and wane. Shion could never predict the arrival of the storms, and only his springtime magic kept him from freezing to death in his cabin.

It had been several weeks since Nezumi had appeared outside Shion's fence. He'd vanished just as suddenly as he'd appeared, leaving no trace behind.

Some nights when Shion lay awake in the darkness of his cabin, having willed the tiny lights down, he wondered if he'd merely imagined Nezumi's presence.

A beautiful boy who'd swept from the heart of the woods, interested in Shion and his magic charms? Preposterous. Shion had lived in Kronos for years, and never once had one of the Mao been intrigued enough to investigate him.

Understanding that Nezumi was nothing more than a figment of his over-active imagination both calmed and disappointed Shion. At the time, it'd felt so real—the conversation they had drifted through his mind, even now, the low timbre of Nezumi's voice rocking through his bones.

Shion thought of Nezumi often, but he rarely dreamed of him.

Shion rarely dreamed at all. Perhaps it was the price he'd had to pay for use of his magic. When Shion closed his eyes and drifted, he saw colors and pictures in his mind, but they never made sense. He never dreamed or prophesied the upcoming weather patterns like other witches he'd read about. Sometimes he relived his memories from childhood, down to the last detail. In those memories, nothing magical or otherworldly happened. Nothing that could be specified as a dream.

Even so, Nezumi had never once appeared in Shion's late-night memories. Yet more proof that he'd never existed in the first place. If he'd actually appeared before him—a member of the Mao tribe, drawn to Shion's springtime magic—he would have starred in at least a few of Shion's captured memories.

Shion took the disappointment and shoved it aside. He couldn't afford to get caught up in memories that hadn't actually happened. There were other explanations for Nezumi's abrupt presence, but they hardly mattered now. With the rapid approach of winter, heralded by the silver snowflake, Shion had to prepare for the ice and snow.

He took a breath and went inside his cabin.

**⁂**

Shion woke in the middle of the night, suddenly anxious. The handle of the little silver dagger he kept tucked in the side of the cot's frame—used primarily for carving apples and veggies, but stored for self-defense—found its way into his hand. With the curtains blocking out the moonlight, none of the light from the stars in the sky glinted in the blade, but the blue glow of the luminous blue flower charms caught in the edge.

He sat still, allowing the silence to settle around him like a heavy blanket. Shion hadn't woken up from a deep sleep so suddenly in years. The last time it'd happened, he'd been living overseas with his mother; he'd bolted awake, suddenly terrified that he'd be dragged out of his bed and marched to the gallows to hang.

Shion listened to the faint ruffle of wind through the branches outside his cabin. The sharpened wood, shaken free of their typical emerald leaves leaves thanks to the approach of winter, rapped on the wooden roof. He strained to listen to the sounds of the forests beyond the comfort and warmth of his walls.

He couldn't hear the crunch of heavy boots in the snow. His shoulders relaxed; there weren't any villagers planning a sneak attack on him, it seemed. However, Shion's anxiety didn't lessen. Something had pulled him from the comfort of sleep, and he continued to listen for the source of his paranoia.

And then, he heard it.

A harsh, painful inhalation of breath. A sharp hiss slicing through the wind, and a bitten off groan.

Shion threw off the blankets and darted for the door. He grasped the door handle and yanked it open; a sudden blast of cold ripped through the large tunic he'd dragged over his head to sleep in, piercing through the parchment-thin leggings he'd picked out to preserve warmth.

He peered through the darkness. Sometime in the night, it'd started snowing heavily. Shion could barely see through the curtain of white. It'd begun heaping on the ground, completely coating Shion's covered crops. The copse of trees in the distance formed a thick wall of black, blotting out the sky. The moon had disappeared behind the heavy clouds, and Shion couldn't see anything except white and black.

He inhaled, tasting the frost. His bare feet brushed the edge of the fallen snow that'd begun to pile on his staircase. His toes ached at the sudden wave of cold, but Shion continued to peer into the shadows. He searched for movement in the darkness, the echo of the pained hiss echoing in his mind.

He peered through the dark, reaching into the air surrounding his cabin. He called on the energy swirling in the air, picking through the wild, untameable frost drifting from the sky. The trees might have been tapped out in the wake of winter, but there was plenty of energy left in their cores to allow Shion to push away the frost. He lifted his head, snowflakes landing on his lips and eyelashes—

And then he saw a movement in the shadows.

A hulking shadow staggered in front of the fence. Shion's heart caught in his throat. No sound accompanied the sudden movement, but it was far closer than Shion had been anticipating. He reeled back, the warmth and security of his home screaming for him to return and keep himself safe.

If it was a wild animal, then Shion had nothing to worry about. The scent of his magic would ward off anything with hostile intent, even a starving animal desperate for any morsel to snap up.

Shion couldn't imagine the intruder was human, for their presence in the snow hadn't made a sound. No human being had the ability to remain completely silent in heavy snowfall, especially not when Shion had stepped outside and noticed them.

His stomach plunged at the realization that his intruder might not have been human or animal — but something far worse.

He narrowed his eyes and stared through the darkness at the shadow. If it was an old god, Shion intended to see its face and understand what exactly had come to seek him out. Whatever the consequences might have been as a result of laying eyes on an immortal being, Shion was prepared to handle them. He searched out the shadows features, peeking into the heavy black cloak as it lifted its head and peered back at him.

Silver glinted out from the darkness, and Shion's heart clenched.

" _Nezumi?_ "

A sharp hiss answered him, edged with pain. The silence suddenly made sense. Nezumi's boots had runes of silence on them, allowing him to appear and vanish without a sound. His black cloak blended in with the midnight air, and the heavy snowfall kept him concealed from prying eyes that hadn't been searching for him.

Questions died on Shion's tongue—why was he here, where had he been, what was wrong—and he immediately hurried down the stairs. His bare feet plunged into the snow. It rose to the middle of his calves, and Shion bit back the cry of shock that rose from the sudden bolt of cold. He forced it back as he staggered through the snow, his steps uncoordinated and heavy, and collapsed against his fence.

Those silver eyes rose to meet his. Shion drew in a shocked breath. He'd been stricken by Nezumi's eyes from a distance when he'd first seen him—shortly before Shion had convinced himself that Nezumi was nothing more than a figment of his desperate imagination—but up close, there were swirls of pale silver and dark grey, streaked through with icy blue. The pupils were small pinpricks of solid black, and Shion couldn't see himself reflected back in his irises. Agony flared up behind Nezumi's eyes like fire in an abandoned church.

Shion's arms reached out and grasped Nezumi's shoulders. Nezumi reeled back from his touch with a startled groan, and Shion wrenched his hand back as a warm wetness spread across his palm.

He peered down into the darkness, gawking at the scarlet smeared across his skin. _Blood_. His stomach plunged at the sight of it, and soon, it was all he could smell. Iron twisted around him, slicing through the falling snow and the thick, earthy smells of the world around him.

Nezumi exhaled, hard, and the world snapped back into focus.

Shion reached forward again, slowly, and announced, "Step forward. I'll be careful with your shoulder."

" _What?_ "

Nezumi's voice lanced through Shion like a knife. He remembered that voice rumbling around him, their banter the first time they'd met. It'd occupied Shion's mind after Nezumi vanished into the forest, soothing him to sleep when he lay in the comfort of his bed and allowed himself to rest. There was an edge of darkness in his tone, distrust that bled out of him as quickly as the wound on his shoulder, but Shion understood it and didn't get offended.

Shion was, in every aspect of the word, a stranger. He and Nezumi had exchanged names, but no other information. The only similarities they shared was their apparent ties to magic. Nezumi had expressed concern about stepping into Shion's 'snares', of which there _were_ none, and Shion understood that even the Mao had their concerns about an outsider who had supposed ties to the old gods and their powers.

"I want to help you," Shion explained softly. "Nothing more."

Nezumi narrowed his eyes. Through the pain splashed across his features, Shion could see the desperation for help. His injuries were severe, that much was obvious, though Shion didn't know _how_ severe.

"Please," Shion said, lowering his voice and peering deep into Nezumi's eyes. He relaxed and made certain he looked harmless, allowing his own insecurities and fears to come out. He might have been a stranger, but he genuinely wanted to help. "Please, let me help you."

Shion didn't have the room for terror. Nezumi could have easily slammed a knife through his chest, ripping his life from him as though he were nothing more than an insignificant insect. He understood this and allowed himself to stand still. He didn't want Nezumi to consider him a threat—didn't want him to feel threatened when Shion was trying to offer genuine assistance.

Nezumi had no reason to trust him.

And yet, somehow, he did.

He moved forward, slowly, and Shion helped guide him into the security of his fence. Nezumi's boots didn't make a sound as he drifted across the snow. He winced as Shion shifted his arm, guiding it over his shoulders. "Here," Shion said softly, "lean against me. I'll help you. We're not too far from my door."

Nezumi exhaled and stubbornly refused to press his weight against Shion. He moved slowly, allowing Shion to guide him carefully around the covered stalks of tomatoes and herbs. Shion knew the layout of the garden as well as he knew each freckle and scar on his hands; he carefully led Nezumi around them, helping him steadily up the stairs. Warmth bled from the source of the injury on Nezumi's shoulder—its stickiness seeped through Shion's fingers, even as he struggled to keep his hand off the worst of it.

Shion opened the door to his cabin and, with a deep breath, brought Nezumi inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're finally back with another chapter! I'm currently working on getting this fic updated as quickly as possible, as well as updating _Knight of Rot & Ruin_. I also need to finish posting two of my other fics, and after that, I have a few other things I need to work on.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy the fics as they come out! I'm working hard to update them as often as possible. Y'all have been sticking with me through a lot of stuff, and I appreciate the hell of your support. Thanks for being amazing, and I can't wait to write more of these fics!
> 
> Stay awesome!

Shion closed the door behind him, shutting out the winter storm. His cabin was a portal to another world, in a sense; as soon as the heavy wooden door clicked shut, all the cold wind and frost vanished into a thing of distant memory. The smooth floorboards beneath Shion's bare feet radiated with comfortable warmth, as if they'd been baking in the spring sunlight all day.

Shion exhaled with relief as the heat worked its way through his icy toes. He shifted the balls of his feet against the solid wood, careful not to stomp on the little flower bulbs pushing up from between the boards. A small puddle formed on the wood where he was standing as the snow melted off his skin. He didn't worry—there were bigger things to focus on now.

He lifted his head and peered into the heart of his cabin. Now that he'd jolted out of a dead sleep, the flower charms radiated with all the warmth and light of a calm morning. Shion could see the hearth neatly tucked in the far corner, the coals still smoldering from his dinner that evening. The soup cauldron, scrubbed clean and set gently off to the side, sat like a massive black stone.

And in the center of it all stood Nezumi.

He loomed like a solid strip of shadow, his heavy hood concealing his face. He'd tramped through Shion's cabin, his heavy boots leaving a trail of snow and dirt in the center of the floor. It wouldn't take much to clean—a simple brush of a broom and Shion could sweep away the remnants of the icy storm outside—but there was something so strange about him standing there in the heart of Shion's world, rooted in place like a tree that had sprung up straight out of the ground and spread its branches throughout the cabin.

Shion shrugged his cloak off his shoulders and hung it gently on the hook beside the door. He had no intentions to head back into the storm this evening. He hadn’t been planning to venture out into it at all when he’d fallen asleep that evening, but Nezumi’s muted, pained hiss had somehow reached into his subconscious and pulled him into the waking world.

Nezumi glanced around the cabin, and Shion could practically feel the unease rolling off him. He scanned the walls and glowing flowers as if searching for snares that weren’t present, and Shion tried not to be offended.

His hands were sticky with blood. Shion flexed his fingers, feeling it cooling against his skin, in the creases of his fingers and palms.

He swallowed a wave of fear and went to the pail of water sitting by the door. He’d been waiting for a warmer day to dump it outside, as doing so now would guarantee that it would freeze and cause a slipping hazard for him the next time he ventured outside. Shion was suddenly grateful for it as he dunked his hands inside and rubbed them together. He had no soap readily available near the bucket, but scrubbing his knuckles and palms got the still-damp blood off his skin.

Shion flicked the water off his hands and patted them dry against his trousers. The water inside the bucket was not clean, and he couldn’t use it to wash Nezumi’s wound, but he’d take care of that soon enough.

He turned to look at Nezumi, and then took a careful step forward. Nezumi’s eyes immediately darted to him. Shion resisted the urge to freeze beneath his piercing gaze and continued to move forward. It wouldn’t do him any good if Nezumi began to suspect him of wrongdoing.

He crossed carefully to his cot and drew back the blanket. The mattress was still warm from his body, and Shion willed a little bit of magic from the flowers surrounding him into keeping it comfortable. A few bound bushels of lavender flowers sat beneath his mattress to keep the room smelling nice, to lull him into a peaceful rest. Shion murmured to them and drifted his fingers through the air, pulling the natural lavender scents and weaving them into the fabric covering his cot and the pillows. If he was going to do this, then he wanted Nezumi to be comfortable.

Nezumi watched him without a word. He shifted, and his weight pressed against a loose section of the floorboards. The wood creaked beneath his boots, and both he and Shion flinched at the sound.

Shion exhaled softly. It was too silent. He’d grown accustomed to the silence of his cabin when it was just him present within it, but with a guest? Shion was painfully aware of Nezumi looming in the darkness, hovering just beyond his shoulder. How severe were his wounds? He’d seemed in a decent amount of pain, and the blood that’d stained Shion’s hands seemed a decent indicator that the wound was far from simple.

Shion patted the mattress and turned to Nezumi. “Here. Lay down, and I’ll take a look at your shoulder.”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes at him. He shifted his wounded shoulder away from Shion, and it was all Shion could do not to roll his eyes.

“If I was going to hurt you,” he said softly, “I would have done it already. I’m not going to hurt you, Nezumi. I just want to help bind your wound. You’re bleeding.”

A muscle in Nezumi’s jaw twitched. “I’m aware.”

Shion thumped his hand on the mattress again. “Then lay _down_.”

Nezumi stared at him again, but all the fire seemed to have left him. The tension in his spine dissipated as he slowly crossed the cabin. The edges of his cloak brushed the ground, dusting over the buds of the flowers peeking through the floorboards. Shion noticed that, even wounded, Nezumi made a special effort not to trounce on them.

He reached up with one hand as he approached the cot, grasping for the clasp keeping his cloak pinned together. He couldn't seem to get a decent grip on it; a look of frustration crossed his face, and he tried to unhook it again.

Shion reached a hand up and said, "It's fine, I'll do it."

Nezumi gave him a wary look, but if he'd come up with an argument, he didn't voice it. He eased himself down on the cot.

Even sitting, Nezumi seemed on edge. His silver eyes clicked to Shion's hands, which were resting on the mattress and willing warmth into them. Shion straightened his fingers and made certain he kept them in Nezumi's line of sight at all times.

Nezumi gave Shion a brief look, and Shion took his silence as assurance that it was acceptable to help him remove his cloak. He took hold of the clasp and gently undid it. The fabric felt silky and cool beneath his palms. As he guided the cloak gently down Nezumi's shoulders, paying special attention to the wound, Shion noticed runes etched along the lining of the black fabric.

He recognized several of them— _warmth, silence, stealth_ —but there were others he couldn't identify. He understood the language of spellwriting, but these spells were well beyond his knowledge. A flare of jealousy shot through him like a bolt of lightning, but Shion shoved it aside. He had other needs to focus on at this time. Comprehending magical script could come later, when Nezumi was no longer spilling blood.

Shion looked at the cloak, inspecting it for damage. The shoulder was, as expected, sliced and damp with blood that Shion couldn't see against the dark fabric. He rose to his feet, folding it over his arm, and brought it to the hook near his door.

He hung it up, smoothing out the wrinkles. He could focus on cleaning out the blood and repairing the torn fabric once Nezumi was out of harm's way. The runes woven into the fabric would be difficult to work around. Shion might need to have Nezumi translate them to assure him washing it in purified water would be strong enough to take the blood out of it.

Shion turned back to the mattress and took a good look at Nezumi. The clothing he wore beneath the cloak were also the same shadowy shade, but plain enough. A simplistic tunic and a pair of trousers tucked into a heavy pair of boots. The left shoulder of his tunic was shredded, and Shion winced.

Even from a distance, Shion could see the thick patch of blood around the slices in Nezumi's skin. What had happened? His stomach dropped as he crossed the room and crouched down in front of the mattress.

"I'm going to look at your shoulder now. Is that all right?"

Nezumi watched him, but didn't say a word.

Shion nodded, once, and eased up to look at Nezumi's shoulder.

At first glance, it seemed much worse than it truly was. Blood had spread across the ruined fabric of Nezumi's tunic, but peering through it, Shion could see the slice itself. It didn't look too long—about the length of Shion's index finger—but it did seem deep. The blood welling up from it was dark, and Shion prayed it wasn't too late to stave off an infection.

"I'll need to clean it," Shion murmured. Speaking any louder seemed wrong; the air within the cabin had settled into a calm silence, warmth radiating from the flower charms.

Nezumi looked over his shoulder, at the wall, at the covered windows—anything to avoid having to look Shion in the eye. "Just do what you need."

Shion nodded and rose slowly to his feet. The wound didn't seem to be bleeding too heavily, which was a decent sign. Preparing some clean water and gathering his equipment wouldn't put Nezumi in too much jeopardy.

He busied himself with gathering some fresh snow from just outside the door. The storm continued to rage beyond the protective walls of the cabin. Shion shivered as he opened the door, used a stone bowl to gather a bit of crisp snow, and then shut out the cold a second time.

He brought the snow to his clean cauldron and dumped it inside. With a little magic, the fire had been lit, and the snow melted without incident. Shion used his ladle to scoop some of it out, setting it off to the side to let it cool from boiling to comfortably warm. He gathered a set of needles, which he sterilized by sticking the tips into the fire, and a spool of thin thread he believed would be safe enough to stitch Nezumi's wound closed.

Once Shion had his materials together, he collected a clean cloth from his pile and hurried back over to the bed.

Somehow, Nezumi had managed to get his boots off and set them neatly beside the bed. He looked up at Shion approached, and even at rest, Nezumi looked wary. Shion didn't doubt that Nezumi could spring off the mattress and disappear out the door in an instant if the need arose. Shion had no real comprehension of the Mao and what they were capable of; their ties to magic were obvious, given Nezumi's attire and mysterious appearance, but Shion didn't have any other information to go on at the moment.

Shion dipped the cloth into the water—it had cooled to a gentle warmth—and pressed the cloth to the wound.

Nezumi sucked in a sharp hiss, and Shion murmured an apology. He cleaned the wound quickly, but gently. As the blood was wiped away, Shion could see it for what it was. Deep indeed, but nothing Shion couldn't repair.

He became aware of Nezumi's quicksilver eyes watching his every movement. Shion tried to focus on his work; he knew that, if he were to stray and catch Nezumi's eye, he'd get caught in them and never be able to find his way out.

As soon as the wound was washed, Shion set the soiled cloth down on the ground. He gingerly plucked the needle from the pile and threaded it. Nezumi shifted, leaning back just enough to put a bit of distance between them. Shion's heart ached for him. He understood the concern that must have come from seeing a stranger with a needle, but he forced himself to remain calm and in-control. There was no point in making Nezumi even more nervous.

Once he'd prepared the needle and the thread, Shion turned to Nezumi and smiled at him. "I'm going to stitch your wound now. I promise it's not going to hurt."

Nezumi stared down at him. Distrust flashed briefly across his face. He looked at the tip of the needle, the thread, and then at Shion's expression.

"You're... a _healer?_ " he asked softly.

"N-not so much." Shion gave him a crooked smile. "I only understand healing magic as a concept, but I've never had to perform it. The... villagers wouldn't trust me, if I did."

Nezumi's eyes flashed.

"But, I know how to do it! I've been stitching my own clothing for years, and as a concept, it's not all that different. I've even perfected the ability to numb aches and pains, so you won't feel a thing!"

Shion had been soothing his own headaches and muscle aches since he'd learned how to pull the energy from arnica and primrose plants. He'd used them on his own mother when the long days at the bakery made her drop into bed with a miserable groan, and though it had been several years since Shion had practiced on another human being, he felt confident in his abilities.

Nezumi huffed through his nose, but he shifted back toward Shion. "All right. Just try not to look so excited about it."

Shion blinked. "I looked excited?"

"Yes." Nezumi shuddered. "It's unsettling."

"O-oh. I'm sorry." Shion pressed his lips into a thin line and narrowed his eyes. "I won't look too excited. Is this better?"

"No."

Shion sighed. Evidently there was no pleasing some folks. "I'm going to stitch you up now. Just don't look at me if you don't like my face."

Nezumi clicked his tongue, but didn't argue. He looked around the cabin, and Shion felt a wave of self-consciousness bolt through him. His cabin had always been comfortable, but he'd never had many guests. The villagers in Kronos couldn't see the life he'd built for himself here—if they thought he was a witch _now_ , allowing them to see his charms and forestry décor would confirm their beliefs.

Shion closed his eyes and concentrated on pulling the energy from the collection of healing herbs he kept nearby. He wove the energy into something calming and numbing for the wound on Nezumi's shoulder. Primrose was his favorite, simply because Shion worked with it the most and had the greatest experience with it. He eased it through Nezumi's muscles, working out the tangles of damaged nerves and soothing the flares of pain crackling through them.

Nezumi began to relax beneath his hand, and Shion understood that his numbing agents had begun to work. He opened his eyes, looked at the wound—the bleeding had slowed enough for Shion to feel comfortable with beginning to stitch it.

Shion began weaving the needle through Nezumi's skin. It was considerably different than stitching a piece of clothing, but he kept his hands steady and focused on the task at hand. Nezumi didn't groan when the needle punctured his skin, so Shion continued to push the tip through the skin and watched as the wound began to close beneath it.

"How did it happen?" Shion murmured, and the sudden sound of his voice made Nezumi flinch. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"How did it _happen?_ " Nezumi looked at the curtains; Shion kept them closed at all times to keep the warmth inside and prevent prying eyes from spotting his magic. "Hmm. How, indeed."

Shion closed his eyes. "So, you don't feel like telling me?"

Nezumi's silver gaze flickered down toward him. "Do a halfway decent job," he said quietly, "and I might."

Shion's heart clenched. He turned and focused quickly on suturing the wound. Weaving the numbing magic from the primrose plants into the path of the needle proved to be far easier than Shion anticipated it would. His blood sang at the realization that, even years later, his skills were no less sharp.

He'd be an excellent healer, if given the opportunity.

Beyond the window, the heavy snowfall continued to coat the world in layers of silver. A wolf howled in the distance. The winter world had swept away all remnants of the autumn, smothering the plant life for the remainder of the season. Shion was grateful he'd gone out before the frost and gathered enough herbs to keep him set until springtime. He hadn't anticipated that he'd need to dip into his supply of pain-reducing herbs, but he was no less grateful to have them. A soft smile played on his lips as he closed the last bits of Nezumi's wound.

Outside, the night dragged on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those of you who have been reading _Knight of Rot & Ruin_, I'm sure you're all looking forward to something that isn't just saturated in angst. So, in order to cleanse your palate and give you a tiny break from the misery, here's another chapter of this fic!

Shion stood over the cauldron, reveling in the scents of freshly cooked beef and vegetables. He’d been saving the meat for a special occasion—preserving it with his magic—but tonight seemed as good a time as any. When would be the next time Shion had the honor of hosting a guest?

As he stirred the concoction, gently lifting the ladle and admiring the large chunks of potato, he listened to the sounds of Nezumi breathing from the other side of the cabin.

After Shion had finished stitching his arm, he’d bandaged up the injury and instructed Nezumi to lay down and get some rest. Nezumi seemed uneasy about laying down in a stranger’s bed, but Shion assured him he’d be on the other side of the cabin, cooking some stew for them to eat.

Shion smiled. It wasn’t the first time he’d started cooking at night. Sometimes, when anxiety plagued him, he boiled some water and mixed in herbs to craft a sleeping brew.

Cooking stew was a much bigger beast, but Shion had already spent the evening chopping the vegetables and meat to put together in the morning. He was simply freeing himself some time.

Nezumi hadn’t said much since Shion finished cleaning his room. When Shion cleared away the needle and spool of thread, he’d heard Nezumi murmur, “Thank you.”

He hadn’t stopped smiling since.

Shion gave the stew a few more stirs before ladling a bit into one of the clean, stone bowls he kept on the nearby shelf. Steam drifted into his face; Shion inhaled the comforting scents of herbs and exhaled, content.

Cooking wasn’t too different from putting together potions, and Shion had picked up a few tricks from his mother. He felt a surge of pride as he fetched a spoon from the drawer and turned to face Nezumi.

He’d finally stretched out on the cot, resting on his back. He seemed to be favoring his uninjured shoulder, cushioning the bandaged one of the pillow. His eyes had been closed; the moment Shion took a step forward, they flicked open, silver glinting in the dim blue light, and darted in Shion’s direction.

Shion took another step forward, holding the bowl of stew between them like an offering. “I made you something to eat,” he said softly.

Nezumi looked at the bowl, and then back at Shion. “What did you put in it?”

“Potatoes, some beef, and a few vegetables from my garden.”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes.

“You can’t honestly believe that I would take the time to stitch your wounds if I intended to poison you.”

“I don’t know where your interests lie.”

Shion closed his eyes and huffed. “If it’ll make you feel better, I’ll taste it first.” He went to dip the spoon into the dark brown stew, but Nezumi made a sound in the back of his throat. Shion looked up. “What?”

“If you _did_ poison it,” Nezumi pointed out, “you’d probably use something you’re immune to.”

“I’m… not immune to poison.”

“No?” Nezumi raised an eyebrow. “Strange.”

Shion pressed his lips together. So his magic was different than what Nezumi was accustomed to. Shion had anticipated as much, given the strange symbols etched on Nezumi’s boots and woven into the lining of his cloak, but to think that the witches Nezumi knew were _immune_ to toxins?

Shion felt a spike of excitement at the prospect of learning more about the magic thriving in the world. He shoved it aside. Nezumi already didn’t trust him and his “over-eager Personality”; if Shion wanted Nezumi to trust him, he’d need to stay calm a while longer.

“Here.” Shion came up beside Nezumi and offered the bowl of stew to him. “I promise it’s not poisoned.”

Nezumi slowly eased himself into a sitting position. “And how am I supposed to know that?”

“You’re not. I suppose you’re going to have to trust me.”

Nezumi narrowed his eyes and stared up at him. Shion kept a pleasant smile on his face, assuring Nezumi through the expression on his face and the calming atmosphere of the cabin that he didn’t mean him any harm.

An eternity passed before Nezumi reached out with his uninjured arm and took the bowl of stew.

Shion’s heart warmed, but he gently helped guide it down to the cot, murmuring, “Careful, it’s still hot.”

Nezumi clicked his tongue, but didn’t press any further about poisonings.

Shion watched as Nezumi dipped the spoon into the bowl and brought a bit to his lips. He tentatively tasted it. Shion’s heart hammered with anxiety, but he smiled as Nezumi took another bite of the stew, and then another.

Shion grinned as he watched Nezumi eat a few more bites. His fingers were long and pale, elegantly holding the spoon. The dim blue light radiating from the flower charms glinted against the strands of his long, dark hair. As it had been the first time Shion encountered him, Nezumi’s hair was pulled to the back of his skull, held in place by a strong piece of leather cord. Shion wondered if that, too, had runes etched in it to keep his hair from getting tangled.

“…You’re staring at me.”

Shion jolted from his thoughts. “What?”

Nezumi looked at him from over the rim of the bowl. “It’s no wonder you never have any guests. Don’t you know it’s impolite to stare?”

“S-sorry!” Shion’s face burned as he lowered his gaze to the cot. He could see the leg of Nezumi’s trousers in his periphery.

Nezumi clicked his tongue again. “It’s good, though.”

Shion lifted his head. “…The fact that I was staring?”

“ _No_.” Nezumi looked over at him, an incredulous look plastered across his face. “The stew. Gods, you’re dense. Seriously, how have you survived this long on your own?”

“Oh.” Shion ducked his head, embarrassed at the mistake, but also buzzing with warmth. Nezumi had complimented him. Shion closed his eyes, took a steadying breath—smelling the lavender and the herbs—and steadily began to relax.

**⁂**

“So, how did you injure your shoulder?”

Nezumi glanced up from the bed. After he’d finished the stew, Shion had brought him over a mug of purified water with just a nip of honey for flavor. Nezumi took slow, gentle sips from the mug while Shion cleared away the dirty dishes. He quickly set to work washing them, as he never enjoyed leaving dishes to sit overnight.

“I was out hunting,” Nezumi mumbled.

“At night?” Shion knew that the hunters in Kronos sometimes went out in the evenings, but the threat of wolves, bears, and the chance of encountering one of the Mao kept them close to the village.

“There’s a type of deer,” Nezumi explained. “A rare one. It only comes out in the winter months, and only in the evenings. We use the horns and bones for potions. The meat can be preserved for months, so it’s necessary to surviving the winter.”

“Oh,” Shion said, dreamily imagining the sort of deer Nezumi could have been hunting.

Nezumi took another sip of the honey water. “It’s usually not wise to hunt after dark, but once in a while is acceptable.” He grimaced. “I just happened to get unlucky.”

“What happened?”

Nezumi gave him a sardonic smile. “I pissed off the Lady of the Forest.”

Shion’s stomach clenched.

“Well, pissed off probably isn’t the best way to describe it. I’d have left with much worse than a scratch if I’d truly offended her.” Nezumi gave his wounded shoulder a firm glare, and then he looked back up at Shion. “I chased a deer into a clearing, and I think I must have taken aim at the Lady of the Forest by mistake. She must have been lingering close by.”

“The… Lady of the Forest?”

“Yes.” Nezumi raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know of her?”

“We… don’t tell those sort of stories in Kronos.” Shion wrung his wrists and looked at the ground. The tiny purple buds pushing through the floorboards looked soft as silk; Shion wanted to run his fingers over them, pulling just an extra bit of energy into his body, but he resisted the urge. Doing so would kill the blossoms before they had the chance to grow. “My own knowledge of the old gods is… limited, at best.”

“Hm.” Nezumi looked up at the beehives tucked in the corner of the cabin. “I would have guessed you knew something of her, since you surround yourself with her messengers.”

Shion whirled and stared at the honeybees. They’d retreated to their hive for the evening, nestled down with their queen to sleep until the morning light.

“…You didn’t know.”

“No,” Shion breathed.

“She won’t harm you,” Nezumi said. He looked at his shoulder, and then amended, “Unless you point an arrow at her. It was an accident, but she gave me a warning, all the same. I was far from the Mao village when it happened. I must have wandered closer to your cabin than anticipated. The storm came suddenly and made it difficult to see.”

“Do you think…” Shion looked down at the floor, steeled his courage, and said, “Do you think she could have guided you to my cabin so I could help you?”

Nezumi peered down into his mug.

Shion shifted from one foot to the other. On the rack behind him, the stew dishes sat drying in the artificial spring warmth of the cabin. There were no signs that just beyond the curtains, winter raged violent and strong, concealing hidden creatures Shion could only imagine.

“That’s a theory, I suppose.” Nezumi set the mug down on the floor. He winced as his bandaged shoulder shifted, but he sat up without difficulty before Shion could try and offer him assistance.

Shion smiled down at his hands. Whatever the reason behind Nezumi’s arrival, Shion was grateful for the chance to help him. If this supposed Lady of the Forest had wounded Nezumi to teach him a lesson, it also seemed possible that she’d managed to guide Nezumi to his cabin. It also seemed possible that she’d roused Shion from a deep slumber to bring Nezumi inside, warm him, and stitch his wound closed.

“Well,” Shion said softly. “I’m sorry you were injured. But I am grateful to see you again.”

Nezumi huffed. Shion couldn’t erase the smile from his lips as he crossed the cabin and knelt beside the cot.

“You should probably rest a bit longer,” Shion murmured. “Your shoulder’s still injured. Sleep will help you recover.”

“That desperate to get me off guard, are you?” Nezumi cocked his head to the side, a vicious smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Even wounded, I can still escape if you try anything funny.”

“You’re still on that?” Shion sighed. “I might be an outsider, but I’m not going to hurt you. If I wanted to, I would have done it already.”

Nezumi’s silver eyes flashed. “You think so, do you?”

“Absolutely. You’re injured. If I wanted to poison you—which I _don’t_ —I would have done it the moment you came into my cabin. If I had any real intentions of ending your life, I could have done it quite—”

The world spun as Shion suddenly pitched forward. His breath puffed out in an alarmed gasp as Nezumi grasped hold of his wrist with his uninjured arm and yanked him forward.

In an instant, Nezumi had Shion’s spine pressed flat on the lavender-scented cot. Shion’s head lay nested on the pillow, the blankets tangled around his ankles. Shion gasped, only now becoming aware of Nezumi’s hand around his throat.

He didn’t press hard enough to cut off the flow of oxygen, but he did press hard enough to make a point. Nezumi straddled Shion’s hips with his own, pinning him to the cot with his body. A dark smile stretched across his lips as he leaned forward and said in Shion’s ear, “Is that right?”

Shion inhaled. Intermingled with the scent of lavender and herbs from the stew was a strange undercurrent of jasmine petals and leather. Nezumi was a firm weight on top of him, their bodies pressed together and painfully warm where their limbs connected.

“That,” Shion said, breathless, “was _incredible_.”

Nezumi stilled above him.

“How—how did you _do_ that? You were so fast! I couldn’t even see you move!” Shion squirmed beneath Nezumi, testing out his abilities to move his arms. He could only wiggle them a bit, but Nezumi’s weight kept him pinned to the cot. “Oh, but your shoulder! You shouldn’t move that quickly! You could have pulled the stiches out.”

The fierce expression on Nezumi’s face shifted into a look of confusion. “You… what?”

Shion looked into his eyes. The quicksilver color of his irises glimmered with alternating shades of blue and dark purple. Shion thought it looked pretty, but not as lovely as Nezumi’s true eye color: that unmarred silver, like the edge of a blade in sunlight.

“…You’re so weird.” Nezumi shifted, half-rolling off Shion before resting on his side. His left leg pinned Shion’s thighs to the cot, and his wounded arm stretched across Shion’s chest. His head rested on the pillow, so close that his breath brushed against Shion’s ear and sent goosebumps across his skin.

Shion’s spine went ramrod straight. He couldn’t turn his head without bumping his forehead against Nezumi’s. If he tried to move, he knew he wouldn’t be able to wriggle from beneath Nezumi’s body.

“You’re planning on keeping me here the whole night?” Shion mumbled.

“That would be the best way to ensure you can’t poison me.”

Shion huffed out a laugh. “And when you fall asleep? I’ll just escape then.”

“If you think you can manage it, then just try.” Nezumi’s voice lowered until Shion couldn’t barely hear it. “I think we’re both aware I’m far stronger than you.”

Shion’s body burned, and he stared at the branches interlocking above his head to keep from focusing on how close their bodies were pressed against one another. The scents of fresh lavender and jasmine petals melted around them, filling the air with a sweet, gentle aroma.

Nezumi’s breath drifted over Shion’s neck as he nuzzled into the pillow and murmured, “It’s warm.”

Shion’s chest tightened. He relaxed into the heat radiating from the cot beneath him, willing his magic into it enough to keep both him and Nezumi comfortable for the remainder of the evening.

Eventually Nezumi’s breathing evened out, and Shion realized he’d dropped off into a peaceful slumber. Through his body, pressed against Shion’s, he could feel the thumping of Nezumi’s heart that assured Shion he was alive. He’d come to Shion in his time of need—guided by some unseen force—and Shion had rescued him.

Shion closed his eyes, exhaled, and allowed himself to fall into peaceful darkness.

**⁂**

Shion woke the next morning, the blanket draped over him. The cot beneath him radiated with the remnants of warmth, the gentle scent of lavender drifting around him and willing him to slip back into the shadows.

He was alone.

Shion eased himself into a sitting position. He clutched the blanket close, the remnants of jasmine and leather clinging to the fabric.

Nezumi was gone.

His cloak and his boots were gone, too. There was no sign he’d ever been there at all aside from a set of bootprints stamped on the floorboards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now that Shion and Nezumi have spent an actual night in the same location, this means we can begin to do the shipping things! I bet y'all are probably as excited as I am for these shipping moments!

Shion leaned forward, peering out the glass window of his cabin, the wood warm and smooth beneath his bare palms. He watched with numb exhaustion as the last of the winter hunting party trudged back toward Kronos. Their lowered heads and guttering torches let Shion know they were without a sizable kill, and the winter winds had forced them to retreat back to the security of the village.

He exhaled with relief as Yoming disappeared over the snow bank and hurried down the road. A few dead snow rabbits hung in their snares, but nothing that warranted a celebration. Shion didn't mind the winter months, as it meant the villagers wouldn't come asking for handouts from his garden.

They might have suspected that Shion's crops thrived even in the frozen winds, but without an understanding of magic, they wouldn't be able to feel the energy thrumming in the stalks.

Shion exhaled, hard, his breath puffing against the glass. He watched the fog spread across it, and then it vanished just as quickly as it arrived. Sometimes, if he were in a brighter mood, Shion would have traced magic symbols in the fog. Nothing too special—a rune of warmth or a guard against breaking—but he found himself in too foul a mood to consider using magic today.

It'd been a few nights since Nezumi breezed into his life, bleeding from an injury delivered by the Lady of the Forest. Shion could still feel the pressure of Nezumi's hips pinning his thighs to the mattress, the comfortable warmth radiating from his sleeping body. His breath has tickled Shion's throat as he dozed, and eventually it'd been comfortable enough for Shion to fall into a peaceful sleep.

 _It isn't as though I expected him to stay forever_...

But Shion hadn't anticipated Nezumi vanishing overnight. Waking without him sprawled on top of him had been one of the worst mornings Shion had endured. For a moment, he thought something terrible might have happened to Nezumi in the night. He scoured the cabin for any signs of blood—evidence that Nezumi's stitches had come undone—but he'd found nothing in the floorboards.

He'd looked out at the snowy expanse of his yard, but he also didn't see any blood on the snow. He used his magic to feel for any remnants of energy Nezumi might have left behind, but there was none.

Though Nezumi's absence stung, Shion felt relieved that Nezumi's wounds hadn't been fatal. He'd washed it, cleansed the wound as best he could, and stitched it tight enough that there wasn't any chance of it popping open. If it hadn't been damaged by Nezumi yanking him forward and pinning Shion beneath him, than nothing less than a sharpened blade would damage the stitching.

Shion closed his eyes and pressed the heels of his hands against his closed lids. He didn't know what he wanted anymore. He knew what he feared—the thought of his secrets being uncovered and punished by the villagers in Kronos—but he also worried about what might become of him if Nezumi vanished and never made his presence known again.

Nezumi was a tie to magic that Shion had never anticipated he would desire. More than that, Nezumi was a companion who Shion didn't have to hide his truth from. He'd only known Nezumi for a brief while, but already Shion knew a part of his soul wouldn't return to him if Nezumi stayed away.

 _Stupid_. Shion clapped his hands against his cheeks and opened his eyes. The world beyond his window was clean and cold, the snow having settled across the ground so thick that if Shion were to trudge through it, it would rise to his knees.

The next morning, Shion would need to venture out to Kronos to attend church services. The severe weather a few days ago might have been enough to prevent the services from taking place—the priest permitted folks to stay indoors when conditions were unsafe for worship, though he expected prayer and repetition of the Scriptures to take place within the home.

He drew away from the window and closed the curtain, shutting out the evening air. If he intended to trudge through the snow in the morning, he'd need to work on water-proofing his boots and trousers.

There were plenty of oils and techniques used by seamstresses to make clothing impervious to melting snow that Shion didn't worry about using magic on the heels of his boots to prevent himself from absorbing the water. He'd trace a few runes on the heels to prevent himself from skidding on slates of ice burrowed deep beneath the powder, but beyond that, Shion's usage of magic would be minimal.

He sat on the edge of his cot and yanked his boots into his lap. He supposed he would need to work some charms onto his cloak. He tried to remember the way Nezumi's cloak had flaunted the runes inside them, keeping him warm and silent as he glided through the forest like a wraith.

 _Knock it off_. Shion shook the thoughts away. Remembering Nezumi would just make him miserable.

He quickly went to work tracing his finger over the soles of his boots, pulling energy from the flowers speckled around his cabin and planting them on the leather. He worked diligently, letting his thoughts cement themselves on the task at hand to avoid them wandering back to the silver-eyed boy who'd graced his cabin a few nights prior.

He understood that there was a strong probability Nezumi would stay away from his cabin from now on. He had no real reason to venture out to it in the first place. The only reason he had at all was to discover the source of the magical energy he'd felt radiating from the cabin. Now that he had the answers he sought, there was no need for him to bother himself with Shion any further.

The second time they'd crossed paths had been the doing of the Lady of the Forest. Wishing to teach Nezumi a mere lesson and not allow him to bleed out in the heart of the forests, she'd guided him to Shion's cabin and roused Shion from a peaceful slumber to offer him some assistance. Shion had stitched Nezumi's arm, but now that his task had been completely, Nezumi had no business with him.

Shion supposed one could argue that Nezumi owed him a debt now, but Shion had never been one for expecting favors.

He hadn't saved Nezumi in order to bind the Mao to him.

He'd done it because it was the right thing to do. If he'd seen Nezumi struggling out in the snow, suffering from a horrible wound that would have killed him if it'd been left untreated, Shion would be no better than the monsters who sought his demise on the accusation that he was a witch.

Shion busied himself until late in the evening with preparing his clothes for the trip tomorrow. He set his boots beside the door, placed his cloak on the hook, and let the glowing baubles to dim until there was hardly any light illuminating the inside of his cabin.

If he wanted to get an early start and head to the church—as arriving late would make the villagers suspicious of him—he would need to get into bed and fall asleep sooner rather than later.

Shion sent a soft "good night" to the beehives nestled in the corners. That morning, the bees had buzzed around him, landing on his shoulders and crawling across the fabric of his tunic. Now that Shion understood they were messengers to the Lady of the Forest, he'd treated them as if they were honored guests. He'd smiled at them and greeted each of them, as he often did, but this time he avoided pulling energy from the flowers closest to their hives.

He sank down on the edge of the cot. Shion hadn't shared his bed with anyone aside from his mother, and even that had been years ago when he was a child living overseas in her bakery.

Now that Nezumi had slept beside him, Shion felt strange laying back on the cot without a companion. Logically, it made no sense. Nezumi had only shared a bed with him for a single night. Something like that shouldn't have been enough for Shion to feel lonely laying in the darkness by himself. He'd spent several years in this cabin without a human companion.

He wasn't lonely.

But as he stretched out on the mattress, too tired to use his magic to warm the fabric stretched out beneath him, Shion realized he was lying to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have fantastic news!
> 
> After coming to terms with the career path I want to do with my life, I was accepted to a graduate program yesterday evening! My classes begin in early October, and I am so psyched to be doing this! I want to assure you all that I will continue to work hard on my fanfiction while I'm attending classes, so there will be plenty of No.6 content coming out, but this is an excellent step toward my future!
> 
> In the meantime, I'm working on posting new chapters of _Knight of Rot & Ruin_, as well as the remaining chapters of _And The Forest Whispers_. I hope you all enjoy these fics as they continue to update, and I look forward to seeing you all in the next ones!

The trip into Kronos the following morning was cold and lonely. Shion huddled down into his cloak, reveling in the warmth it offered. The dry runes he'd traced into the fabric kept his body heat trapped within, even when the winds ruffled the cloak and threatened to tear it from his shoulders.

Outside the barrier of warmth Shion had crafted for himself, the morning world was cold. Shion's boots punched through the snow, his legs submerging up to his knees. The snow clung to his trousers, clumping in the backs of his knees and accompanying him the mile and a half distance to the center of the village.

Shion had no affinity for winter magic―he'd never attempted it, as the winds were too wild to contain with his paltry skills―but he managed to slice his way through the harsh gusts of wind and trudge his way toward the church.

He'd set out just before sunrise, plunging into the darkness and locking the door to his cabin behind him. Some part of his soul considered leaving the door unlocked on the off-chance Nezumi happened by when he was out, but Shion immediately thought better of it. He locked the door and dropped his key into his pocket. If Nezumi did happen to stop by, Shion doubted he would let himself into a witch's house.

Shion hadn't bothered with breakfast that morning. His stomach felt oddly empty, but the thought of putting food inside it made him nauseous. The church services would provide him with plenty of food to get to dinner time. The priest would give each of them a cup of wine―to signify the blood spilled in the name of the sacred ones―and cheese would be paired with it.

The streets of Kronos were empty. Shion suspected they would be. In the snowy months, women stayed indoors unless the church compelled them outside. The hunters didn't go outside on a sacred day, and the villagers were either already arriving at the church or preparing to head over from the security and warmth of their cabins.

The wind whipped through the quiet village, stoppered by the buildings lancing their way into its path. Shion kept his hood drawn up, the tip of his nose stinging from where the frost brushed it. If not for the warmth radiating from the dry wards in his clothing, Shion knew that snowflakes would pepper on his eyelashes, turning them from a deep brown to a gentle white. Sometimes Shion wondered what he would look like with white hair. He thought it might make him look older―but it would definitely prove to the villagers that he was a witch.

They already suspected him even though his hair and eyes were the same dark brown as many of the other villagers'. How would they view him if his hair were to turn white?

Shion saw the church rising in the center of the town. Unlike the rest of the village, the church was crafted entirely of stone. It was stronger than the cabins compiling Kronos, meant to withstand even the most devastating of storms. The heavy wooden door, etched with figures from the sacred scriptures, greeted him as he finally reached his destination.

He pushed the door open―chuckling to himself as the 'wards' meant to keep away witches refused to shove him outside―and ducked inside.

A steady rumble of noise penetrated the room. It rattled through Shion's bones, and he realized quickly that it was coming from the conglomerate of villagers gathered inside, perched in the wooden pews. A few of them glared at Shion as he walked inside, but thankfully he didn't seem to be a major source of attention this morning.

The voices of the crowd rumbled as Shion picked out a spot to sit. He settled down on the edge of a pew close to the back. If he sat too close to the door, the villagers might think it suspicious. But if he sat too close to them, he'd spend the entire service being glared at and whispered about. Shion knew it would happen regardless of where he sat, but it was one thing to subject himself to it directly. He settled down, pulling his hood down and letting it settle around his shoulders.

The inside of the church wasn't warm, but it was far more comfortable than the wind swirling through the streets outside. Shion gave a few shivers to keep up appearances. He knocked the snow from the soles of his boots, as he'd seen several of the men do plenty of times before. The runes traced on the soles of his boots had kept him from slipping on the ice, but it would seem strange if Shion didn't make a show of trying to get it off himself. He pressed his lips in a disgruntled line, for added measure.

Shion couldn't close his eyes, or else he'd slip into sleep. Falling asleep during church services was deeply frowned upon. It'd happened to the miller's wife one day―it happened that she was pregnant, and as such, easily exhausted―but she'd been shunned around the village for at least a few months.

Shion felt the prickling of someone watching him. He turned to look to the right. Sitting in the pew opposite him was Yoming. As soon as he caught Shion's eye, his dark eyes narrowed with disgust. He looked ahead at the podium, where the priest would stand and deliver this morning's service, and gave Shion no more thought.

Shion exhaled and tried not to worry about it.

As the rest of the village began to filter into the church―strategically avoiding Shion's pew until it became impossible to do so―he allowed his thoughts to wander back to the warmth he'd experienced a few nights prior. Since waking alone, Shion hadn't been able to get comfortable in his bed. It felt stupid and strange, as he and Nezumi had only shared a bed for a couple of hours at best, but Shion found that his cot was far too large now, too cold on one side.

He shook his head and tried not to think about it. If he spent too long remembering the warmth of another body against his, he'd drift off in the middle of today's services. He only had to keep up appearances with these folks once a week. For an hour, Shion would pretend to be a pious man who believed in a single god, desperate for salvation at any cost. He'd read the scriptures and chant the songs and pretend to believe the things he was told without question.

At last, the final villagers trickled inside, and Shion heard a door thump closed at the front of the church. The buzz of voices died down suddenly, and it was so painfully quiet that even the shift of fabric seemed inappropriately loud. Shion felt as if the world were bleeding away from him as he lifted his head, squared his shoulders, and prepared to listen intently for the next hour.

A chiming bell came from the front of the church, where the podium sat, and the villagers rose as one. Shion, well-aware of this process, rose with them and sank down to his knees in the aisle between his pew and the one before him. He lowered his head and closed his eyes, his bare hands folding together in front of his chest. He interlocked his fingers and clenched them tight, feeling the warmth of his skin radiating through each digit.

The creaking of wood from the podium echoed through the high ceiling of the church. The priest shuffled up to it, his parchment-white robes fanning out behind him. He stared down at the congression―Shion could feel those beady blue eyes pinning him down, surveying his posture and looking for even the slightest slip. Not finding it, the priest exhaled, and the clanging of bells informed the church-goers that they would be permitted to rise in a moment.

The air was chill and damp. Shion inhaled, tasting the must of the church pews, the crisp stench of the melted down intermingled with mud.

The bells clanged a third time, and the priest announced, "All rise."

Shion stood with the rest of the congression. His knees ached from where they'd pressed on the ground, the fabric damp from the pools of liquid that'd formed from the melted snow. He grimaced, though he knew the fabric would dry quickly thanks to the runes he'd traced onto his clothing. He heard Yoming groan somewhere off to his side.

The priest raised his hands and said, "Brothers and sisters, you may be seated." The congression returned to their seats in a clammer of thumping boots and rustling fabric, and then painful silence gripped them once more. "We have gathered today," the priest recited, "as we do every seventh day, to honor our great maker and cherish the gifts presented to us."

Shion felt the priest's voice vibrate through his chest. He remembered these sermons, as they rarely changed throughout the months. The priest rambled on about the scriptures and its teachings, and Shion knew how the process worked.

The priest would recite lines from the scriptures, and the congression would repeat phrases back to him. Shion understood the process. It felt like second nature to him. He said the phrases, accustomed to them from his countless times being dragged to the church and forced to prove that he wasn't a witch―at least not the kind that the village of Kronos seemed to fear.

Today's sermon bled through Shion's mind. He sang when he was meant to, rose when instructed, and chanted the appropriate phrases. His body was present in the church, but his thoughts traveled to the silver-eyed boy that burrowed next to him in his bed.

Nezumi had been guided to him by the Lady of the Forest―one of the old gods that Shion pulled his magic from. Shion had never seen her, but he understood that she protected the forests from destruction. Stories claimed she was a beautiful creature, not human in the slightest, that took a variety of forms. Bees were her messengers, as Nezumi had informed him, and Shion had unknowingly worshiped her for years.

Perhaps the opportunity to meet with Nezumi had been the Lady of the Forest's reward for Shion's kindness. She'd brought Nezumi to him to receive help with his injury, but the feelings thoughts of Nezumi stirred in his chest made Shion's world brighter. The silver glint of his irises sliced through Shion's heart like a blade. Shion could feel the phantom brush of Nezumi's body against him, the sensation of his broad shoulders beneath the palm of his hands.

Shion exhaled and allowed the sermon to twist around him. Where had Nezumi gone? Had he hurried back into the forests because he'd get in trouble for accepting help from an outsider? As long as his wound didn't harm him further, Shion was content knowing that Nezumi was out there somewhere, in the forests, thriving and happy.

_I miss you_ , Shion thought as the congression rose to their feet and belted out songs of praise to the great maker. He closed his eyes and sang louder than the others, hoping to drown out the crushing waves of loneliness that bloomed inside his chest like a thorned rose.

**⁂**

As the sermon drew to a close, Shion stood in line to collect the goblet of wine designated for him. Rather than drinking from the same chalice, as the church had done overseas, Kronos' church decided to separate the sacred wine into separate goblets and instruct the villagers to drink at the same time. This prevented favoritism within the church and furthered the idea that all men were created equal―even if the church had an obvious hierarchy.

The priest's pale blue eyes flickered down to Shion as he approached the podium with his head lowered. He gave the priest a demure smile, as was customary. At his side stood a tall woman with a crisp braid of frighteningly orange hair. She glared at Shion, but she thrust out a goblet to him all the same. She'd grasped the one closest to the table, precariously perched as if it would tumble to the floor and spill with the slightest movement applied to the table.

Shion took the goblet graciously, and then he took the small chunks of cheese provided to him on a wooden plate. The chunks smelled sticky and unnatural. Shion's nose wrinkled. The cheese provided by the church never tasted right. The focus wasn't on flavor, but on tying the villagers together as one for even just a moment.

Shion returned to his pew and nestled down on the seat. He peered into the goblet of wine, swirling it around in the glass. The dark black liquid peered back at him, the sickeningly sweet smell of fermented berries tickling his nose.

When at last the rest of the congression had collected their wine and cheese, the priest held his goblet aloft and announced, "Drink and revel, my brothers and sisters. For this wine is the blood spilled by the great maker to create us all, and this cheese represents the bodies of those who gave their lives to preserve our maker's teachings."

From the corner of his eye, Shion watched Yoming tip his head back and pour the contents of his goblet down his throat. Shion raised his own goblet with the rest and swallowed it all in a single gulp.

The taste danced on his tongue; Shion grimaced. The wine bolted through him, and Shion forced back a gag. He'd never been interested in wine, and it tasted foul on his tongue. The church provided a new flavor each week, depending on the berries and bottles available. Whatever this flavor was tasted over sweet and strangely foul, like rotten berries prickling on the edge of his tongue.

Desperate to rid himself of the taste, Shion bit into a cheese rind and chewed it quickly. The salty chunk sat uncomfortably in his mouth. Shion winced at the taste, but hunger compelled him to swallow it. He managed a few more bites to avoid suspicion, and then he nudged the remainder of it aside. If he received strange looks, he could blame it on a heavy breakfast.

Shion closed his eyes. In a few moments, he would be able to return to his cabin and forget the rest of the village until the next Sunday. He would hunker down into the warmth and comfort of his cabin and try to erase the misery swirling inside his head. He couldn't worry about these things right here. With so many eyes watching him to ensure that he did as he was expected to, Shion couldn't risk letting his mind wander.

"May the light of our great maker guide you through your days, my brothers and sisters," the priest announced. His voice was thick from the wine, the sound booming against the high ceiling and thrumming in Shion's ears.

He murmured it back, as the rest of the church did, and then he rose to his feet. The rest of the villagers were following, chattering amongst themselves. A handful of women went to the priest to compliment him on another excellent sermon. Shion had tried once, but the priest had merely spat at his praise and told him to repent his sinful ways before he came to offer compliments. Shion had never tried again.

Shion hurried to the door, pulling his hood up over his head. He lived a mile and a half away from the village. With the weather raging hard around him, it would make sense that he would leave immediately to make it back to his cabin before frostbite claimed his fingers and toes. He didn't worry about suspicion as he made a beeline for the heavy wooden doors.

He nudged the door open, a burst of cold attempting to whip his hood from his head. Shion ducked down into the warmth, his stomach clenching. The cheese sat uncomfortably in his gut, the foul taste of the wine prickling along his tongue.

He clamped his lips shut as a wave of nausea bolted through him. He should have eaten something this morning. With nothing in his stomach aside from a few chunks of warm cheese and wine, Shion felt the pricklings of illness twist through him.

He took a deep breath and tried to relax. He couldn't vomit so close to the church. The villagers would see him and assume his illness was 'proof' that he was an evil witch rather than what it truly was: a physical reaction to bad cheese and warm wine. He would have to wait until he was close to his cabin before allowing himself to expel the foul concoction, where the snowstorm beginning to rage around him would bury it before the hunters had a chance to happen upon him.

Beneath his cloak, Shion pressed his arm against his stomach and urged himself forward.

He was halfway through the village when a voice called out, "Witch!"

Shion's blood chilled. He turned, his heart hammering as he saw Yoming slowly stalking through the streets toward him. He had a strange look on his face, but Shion chalked it up to the wind whipping snowflakes and icicles against their skin. He squinted, the heavy snow slicing through his vision and causing Yoming to blur at the edges.

"Well met, Yoming," Shion called over the howling wind. He reached up with his other hand and grasped his hood to keep it from flying back. Yoming's heavy boots crunched through the snow as he stomped through it toward Shion.

They stood in the dead center of Kronos. None of the other folks had ventured away from the church. The town felt like a cemetery, spiking through the snowbanks and rising high into the sky.

"Well met," Yoming said, his voice low and cruel. His dark eyes bore down on Shion as he approached. In his dark brown cloak, he looked like the trunk of a dead tree as he came to stand in front of Shion. He had none of the effortless grace Nezumi had when moving through the snow. Shion forced the thought aside, knowing he was traveling into dangerous territory.

"What―" Shion swayed on his feet as a wave of nausea bolted through him. His hand slipped from his hood and pressed against his forehead. The wine and cheese really weren't agreeing with him, twisting up inside his stomach. "What―can I help you with?"

Yoming glared down at him. "You're feeling unwell?"

Shion forced out a laugh. "A bit."

"Good."

Shion lifted his head.

Yoming's dark eyes were sinister and cold. "I saw him, you know," he snarled. "That Mao boy."

Shion's heart clenched.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice him sneaking out of your cabin? How long has _that_ been going on?" Yoming's hands clenched at his sides. He'd kept enough distance from Shion to be menacing, rising in front of him like a wicked statue. "How long have you been communicating with the Mao?"

"I―I don't know what you're―" Shion's stomach clenched, and he doubled over with a groan.

"There's no point in lying to me, _witch_. It was only a matter of time before your secrets came out in the open." His lips quirked up at the corners in a crooked grin. "I was out searching for traces of a rabbit den, and what should I see but a Mao boy sneaking out of your cabin. I hid in the bushes and watched him disappear into the forests. Is he your lover?"

Shion's hands rose to his chest. His heart hammered beneath his ribs, like a bird trapped in a cage. His vision shifted, the edges bleeding with grays and whites. He swayed on his feet.

"What's wrong, witch? Did the poison kick in already?" Yoming's arms folded across his chest. "After I reported what I saw to the priest, he agreed that you needed to be eliminated. But with the weather the way it's been, there was no point in us coming to you and risk entering your snares. So what better way to wait for you to come to us?" He cocked his head. "I'm surprised you didn't recognize the taste of belladonna berries in your wine glass."

 _Belladonna_. Shion should have recognized it. He used the poisonous berries to make small potions for sleep, but with the taste blended into the flavor of the wine, it'd gone beneath his radar. In small doses, belladonna was harmless to an adult. But a handful of berries could be deadly.

Yoming leaned forward and snarled, "This is the end for you, witch. You'll plague our village no more."

Shion's heart gave a painful flip-flop. He shoved his hand out, forcing all his energy into the tips of his fingers. He'd never utilized offensive magic in the past, but he called on the minuscule knowledge he did possess and the desperation to survive, and he sent a wave of heat rocketing toward Yoming.

Yoming threw his arms up at the wafting of heat that shot toward him; Shion turned and sprinted toward the forests.

If he went to his cabin now, Yoming would know where to find him. The rest of the village knew where Shion lived. The heat twisted around him, and Shion used it to slice through the piles of snow surrounding the buildings. His chest ached, his heart pounding as if it would shatter. His breath burst out of him, swallowed by the heavy snowstorm that raged around him.

"There's no use running, witch!" Yoming's voice bellowed after him. "We'll find you!"

Shion's hands clamped against his chest as he ran. His blood churned beneath his skin as he pushed through the ring of tree trunks surrounding Kronos. Between one step and the next, Shion was in the forest, leaving Kronos behind.

He hurried through the forest, desperation urging him forward. The runes on the heels of his boots kept him from slipping on the ice. The heavy snowfall blinded him, the fog stretching across his irises blocking out his vision. His hands flew out to shove aside the dead branches reaching out for his face; he winced as they scratched across his cheeks and tore at his hands.

The forest swallowed him as he raced through it. He didn't know where he was going to end up―he couldn't go back to Kronos, and he couldn't find solace in his own cabin anymore―but he allowed his instincts to carry him away from the nightmare looming behind him.

He tripped over a root jutting from the ground. Shion stumbled forward, his breath tearing out of his throat. He crashed into the snow, the cold wrapping around him like the arms of a dead lover.

As soon as he hit the ground, all the energy in Shion's body bled outward. His arms were weak beneath him, the warmth in his runes trickling out onto the snow. Shion's cheek rested on the packed snow, the sharpened edges of the icy snowflakes digging into his flesh. His stomach tightened and twisted, the foul taste on his tongue dripping down the back of his throat.

 _Nezumi_. Shion tried to lift his head, the darkness of the thick tree trunks surrounding him. He turned his head toward the shadows, trying to peer through the trunks, seeking a flash of movement. _Nezumi―please_ ―

Exhaustion settled over him like a heavy stone. Shion's eyelids fluttered closed. In the distance, one of the tree trunks broke away from the rest and began to move toward him. Shion could see Yoming's vicious smile in his mind's eye, eagerly awaiting his demise. The darkness reached up, snagged him around the throat, and pulled him into the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now it's time for a new chapter of _And The Forest Whispers_. I've been working very hard on my fanfictions, and I'm proud to announce another chapter. It's been a lot of fun to work on this fic, especially since there's an opportunity for plenty of nice Nezushi content!
> 
> In the previous one, Shion was poisoned by the villagers because Yoming witnessed Nezumi leaving Shion's cabin and assumed that he was in cahoots with the Mao. But what's going to happen to Shion now?
> 
> Let's find out!

Shion rolled in and out of a feverish sleep for what felt like an eternity. Red and white stars danced behind his closed eyelids, pulling him deeper beneath the surface of a rough black lake.

A collection of images rose to the forefront of his fever-stricken mind—hooded monsters stomping through the forest, capsizing trees miles and miles taller than themselves. A shrieking bird with a bald gray head and piercing red eyes. And at the end of it all, a willowy figure with flashing hands shooting down an army of glossy blackbirds with dark blue arrows of light.

Shion awoke from the nightmares at least a few times, but the feverish state of mind that jailed his thoughts refused to let him separate reality from imagined danger.

One time when he woke up, a dark figure loomed over him. He thrashed and screamed, wordless and petrified. The dark figure had latched onto his arms, pinning them down, whispering to him in low tones that sounded almost like the chanting of a spell.

The next time he woke, he saw Yoming perched on the end of the bed like a hulking black bird. He smiled, his mouth painted in blood. "Don't worry, _witch_ ," he growled, dripping death onto Shion's unmoving body. "We'll find you."

Shion tossed and turned miserably, prickling pain lancing through each nerve ending in his body. He ached, his hands thrashing out and scratching desperately at anything within his grasp. Anything to stop the fire burning in his blood. His throat hurt as if someone had poured boiling water down it. He was tearing himself apart, the particles making up his being fragmenting and splintering within him.

In his nightmares, Shion walked alone in the heart of the forests. There were no roads here, nothing to mark that man had ever made their way into its depths. The thick trunks pressed together, cutting out the light from the sun looming overhead. In the depths of tree trunks and emerald leaves, Shion could feel raw magic bolting around him, energy that he could pull and twist beneath his fingers like thread, crafting something amazing and otherworldly with it.

There were creatures hiding in the shadows, hunters with knives and arrows aimed at his back. Years ago, Shion might have thought these creatures were the Mao, stalking him and desiring to cut him to pieces. Now he recognized them for what they were—the villagers of the place Shion had once thought as home.

Shion felt something solid beneath his spine. He gasped, and something firm and bitter jammed between his teeth to prevent him from biting down on his tongue. Shion's eyelids pressed together; he was too weak to pry them open and see what manner of torture device his captors were shoving him into.

Sharp pains pricked up the soft flesh of his inner arm; Shion wrenched his arms away, curling over them to protect himself from the onslaught he couldn't see coming. He screamed again and again, the bitter taste of the device sliding out of his mouth.

Cool hands brushed across his forehead, smoothing his bangs away from his burning forehead. Soft voices blurred around him, gentle hands caressing his neck and his shoulders, soothing voices calling to him from somewhere above the surface of the pitch black lake. Shion's heart hammered in his rib cage, his stomach clenching painfully tight. He would have emptied his stomach if there'd been anything inside left to expel.

A crackling, elderly voice drifted in through his right ear and out his left. Shion didn't recognize it. He thrashed, the image of the priest's hideous glare rising in his mind's eye. Something strong but gentle clamped on the sides of his face, holding him in place as icy liquid spilled into his open mouth.

Shion choked on it—and a calm, deep voice soothed him, brushing his hair out of his sweat-drenched face and swiping a cool cloth over his skin. He couldn't hear the words or understand what he was being told beneath the loud red thrum of agony, but Shion thought he recognized something in the voice that made him want to give in and relax. Panic bled out of him as exhaustion took hold, the icy taste of the strange liquid melting over his tongue, forcing away the fever that clouded his mind.

He whimpered as the darkness pulled him back beneath the surface.

**⁂**

"Do you have any experience with belladonna poisoning, child?"

"Not really."

"Mm. Well, if we're lucky, he should come to in a few hours. The worst of the convulsions have passed, and his breathing has returned to normal. Keep him hydrated and there should be minimal complications."

Shion exhaled, the world bleeding around him in a hodgepodge of purples and dark blues. A massive gray cloud drifted across his vision, even when he tried to peel his eyes open and see who spoke around him.

He vaguely recognized one of the voices... but where he'd heard it seemed to slip out of his mind like water through a cracked glass. He caught most of it, but the most integral parts disappeared through the shards, spilling out onto the floor and drying before he could stop them.

More cool cloths brushed along his forehead and his neck. His skin burned, like he'd spent the whole day out beneath the sun, and Shion sighed, rescued from the nightmares for only a brief moment.

Shion turned his head, unconsciously leaning into the warmth radiating from his side. Someone was perched on the edge of the cot, and when Shion shifted, they moved closer, looming over him. Rather than terrified, Shion felt calm beneath the shadows, subconsciously drawn to the comfort being offered to him without words. Fingers slid across his cheekbones and down his throat, stopping at the pulse point beneath his jaw and resting there.

Sleep came easily to him, and Shion drifted off once more.

**⁂**

The voice had been wrong.

Shion slept for three more days.

**⁂**

Shion woke up once and saw Nezumi hovering above him. Those startling silver eyes widened in surprise as Shion looked up at him, the edges of his vision blurring together in a soft haze that made him look muted and hollow, like a painting that hadn't been quite finished.

"Shion?" Nezumi pressed his fingers against Shion's forehead and brushed his hair out of his face. The feel of his skin was familiar, and Shion leaned into his touch with a sleepy sigh.

"Out of all the hallucinations I've had," Shion murmured fondly, "you're the best one."

Nezumi reeled back. " _Hallucinations?_ Is that what you think I—"

Shion's eyelids grew heavy and he fell back onto the cot.

**⁂**

Someone sang to him.

It was a beautiful song: slow and sad, and it made Shion's heart ache for the singer.

He wished he could focus on rest of the song, but the darkness claimed him again.

**⁂**

When at last the time came for him to properly awaken, Shion wondered if it all had been a twisted dream. As he blinked up at the dark wooden ceiling, he wondered where he was and how he'd arrived here. Had Yoming found him in the snow, severely weakened from the belladonna berries secretly mixed into his wine, and dragged him back to the church for judgement?

Shion pressed his lips together, tasting the remnants of belladonna berries on his flesh. The sticky juice clung to his lips, and when Shion parted them to take a deep, rattling breath, the dry skin stuck together and pulled uncomfortably. He flinched and clenched his eyes shut.

Beneath his spine, plush warmth shifted as he nudged backward. Shion felt a wave of confusion bleed through his sleep-drunk mind. He couldn't imagine the church would put him on a cot, let alone on a comfortable one. It seemed far more like them to toss him onto the cold, wooden floor beneath the storage room, leaving him to twist miserably as the poison worked its way through his system.

Shion rolled onto his side, drowsiness weighing down his arms and legs. He shifted his wrists, surprised to find them unrestricted by manacles or chains. If the villagers worried that he was an "evil witch", why had they left his hands free?

Questions built one after the other, steadily pulling Shion back into the land of the living.

He blinked up at the ceiling, piecing together the strange boards that held it aloft. It slanted into a point near the far wall, a clear point that the center of the building tapered into a point and the wall separated this particular room from the rest of the building.

Fully awake now, Shion realized he truly wasn't, in fact, trapped in a prison cell. He glanced around the room, taking in the strange collection of furniture. The room was sparse and simple, comprised of a single wooden bed with a plush mattress nestled on top—on which Shion lay sprawled beneath a colorful blanket that felt as soft as if someone had crafted it of the clouds—and a table with a small, unlit candle on it. A tall wardrobe crafted of dark oak sat in the far corner, and a little bookcase filled with tomes sat near the closed door. A thin bar of light ran beneath it, and after a brief moment of listening to the sounds of the building around him, Shion realized he wasn't alone in this place.

Terror shuddered through him, rattling his bones and chilling his blood. Shion's hands clenched the plush blankets, his trembling fingers too weak to ease his frail body off the mattress and seek a way to escape without being noticed.

He might not have been in a prison cell, but that didn't mean he was safe.

He turned his head and stared at the wooden wall beside him. The bed had been crammed into the far corner, and Shion wondered if it was a guest room in someone's cabin. But no, that was impossible. The room around him felt as warm as a spring day, like the walls of his own cabin, and none of the buildings in Kronos had effectively been crafted to keep out the harsh winter chill.

Above his head, Shion spotted a faint sparkling of lavender light. He looked up.

A flower charm—so similar to his own, back in his cabin—hung suspended from the wall above his head. The gentle scents of the asters comprising the charm drifted around him, and despite the terror, Shion inhaled the scents and slowly began to absorb the waves of warmth and energy it emanated.

The door creaked open, and Shion turned, his heart shooting into his throat.

"Oh, you're awake."

Shion blinked. He closed his eyes, count to ten, and opened them again. He took in the vision standing before him, radiant in the dim gold light coming from a soft fire crackling from the other room, and then closed his eyes to dismiss the illusion.

Because that's what it had to be: an illusion.

Shion wasn't in a prison cell, but he was positive he was still back in Kronos, awaiting judgment from the church and the priest who'd deemed him an evil witch. He couldn't be here, and he especially couldn't be here with—

The door clicked shut as Nezumi stepped away from it, entering the room. He held a tall clay mug in his hand, and steam steadily rose from it. "You look surprised," he said, a light grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Don't tell me you still think you're hallucinating."

Shion stared at the tall boy before him, easing into a sitting position. Nezumi hadn't changed since the last time Shion saw him, though he'd dressed down from the thick cloak and heavy boots he'd worn the night he approached Shion's cabin for help. This time, he wore a pale brown tunic that brushed the tops of his thighs, and a pair of black trousers with one of the hems frayed. He didn't appear to be wearing shoes, but the floorboards were polished and warm, and Shion suspected Nezumi had no need of them inside this place.

"Y-you're—" Shion's throat tightened, and he doubled over with a fierce, rattling cough.

Nezumi hurried to his side and nudged the steaming mug into his hands. "Here," he said, slowly perching on the corner of the mattress and pressing in close to Shion to keep him steady. "Take small sips. You don't want to choke."

Shion grasped for the mug, and Nezumi helped him guide it slowly to his lips. The contents smelled heavily and tasted like diluted chicken broth, but it smoothed the crackling in his throat. Shion heeded Nezumi's warning and took small sips, his stomach tightening after remaining empty for so long. He grimaced at the wash of pain that came with it, but hunger and nausea warred within him, beseeching him to stop drinking and continue in tandem. It was madness.

While he sipped, Nezumi reached out and pressed the back of his free hand to Shion's forehead. The rough scratch of calluses made Shion jolt, but the warmth soothed the tremors shuddering through his fingers.

"Hmm," Nezumi mumbled to himself. "Looks like the fever's gone." He waited for Shion to finish drinking—despite the pain and the nausea, he forced himself to finish the whole cup because it made his throat feel better—and then he plucked it from Shion's fingers and placed it beside the useless candle on the side table.

Shion's hands echoed with warmth from the mug. He flexed his fingers, the pull of his muscles assuring him that this was no illusion. He'd collapsed into the snow, his mind twisted and muddled from the poison, but somehow Nezumi had found him and guided him back from the brink.

"How..." Shion shook his head, exhaustion creeping like a gray cloud in his mind. "How did I...?"

"You should rest awhile longer," Nezumi interjected. He eased Shion back onto the mattress, far stronger than Shion could ever hope to be. "All that matters right now is that you're safe and you're going to recover. We can talk about the technicalities when you've rested."

"B-but I—" Shion clenched his eyes shut, nausea rippling through him. He groaned and turned his head to the side, burrowing his face in the pillow.

"Hush." Nezumi pulled the blanket up to Shion's chin and tucked it in gently around his sides. The fabric smelled like lavender, and Shion wondered how he hadn't noticed before. The scent tickling his nose and brought to mind memories of a night not too long ago, when Nezumi had lay beside him, dozing lightly while Shion relished in the warmth of another person in his bed.

"Get some sleep," Nezumi said softly. He slowly eased himself from the bed.

"The charms."

"Hm?"

Shion looked sleepily up at the purple flower charm suspended on the wall above him. "You... you made flower charms, too?"

"No," Nezumi said simply. "Those are yours. From your cabin."

Shion's eyelids fluttered. "You went to my cabin and... got them for me?"

Nezumi's lips quirked up in a crooked, mischievous smile. "It wasn't as difficult as you think." He turned and headed for the door. "Get some rest. I'll show you the rest once you wake from your nap."

Shion settled back into the darkness, thousands of questions circulating in his mind. If Nezumi was here, did that mean Shion had somehow made it to the Mao village? And if Nezumi had gone back to retrieve his flower charms, did that mean the other items in his cabin were safe from the villagers of Kronos, too? His mind whirled with confusion, but the lulling scents of lavender and aster petals drifted around him and guided him back into a comfortable slumber. As he began to doze, he heard Nezumi singing in the next room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it's time for another chapter of _And The Forest Whispers_. Shion has officially been rescued from the village of Kronos and is with Nezumi! Not only that, but Nezumi apparently went to Shion's cabin and got a few of his things for him so the villagers of Kronos couldn't destroy them.
> 
> So, what's going to happen next? Let's find out!
> 
> Comments are always welcome! I love being able to reply to y'all and hear what moments stuck out the most. I adore hearing back from writers when I comment on their fics, so it makes me ecstatic to be able to reply to all of you!

Shion's ears rang as he drifted back into the world. The gray stars at the corner of his sight disappeared, giving way to the beautiful wooden slats stretched across the ceiling. The soft purple glow of the flower charm― _Shion's_ flower charm, taken from his cabin by Nezumi's hands―glittered against the walls. He'd pulled most of the warmth and strength from it in his sleep, and the glow was dim and weak.

Shion nestled into the comfort of the mattress. He'd been curled beneath the heavy coverlet for far longer than he would have liked, drifting in and out of consciousness above a wave of exhaustion and illness. The strength from the flower charms had worked the worst of the toxins out of his system, leaving nothing but a weak sensation of pain in the tips of Shion's fingers and toes.

He squinted in pain as he eased himself into an upright position. The muscles in his spine ached. He felt as if he were still waking up, moving through a vast ocean made of syrup. The throbbing at the back of his head faded as he pulled himself from the bed, but something was off. He'd never lost this much time before. He'd slept far longer than he'd intended, but he'd never unconscious for _days_.

Despite the memories of the events that led him to spend days laid up in bed, Shion felt weightless and warm. Peace swept over him, the first real sense of calm he'd felt since that fateful night when Nezumi had stumbled into his cabin, blood spilling from the slice in his shoulder. 

He couldn't tell what time of day it was. For all he knew, it could have been the middle of the night, the moon rising high above his head and spreading a soft silver glow across the snow. The room he slept in had no windows, but Shion didn't feel concerned by their lack of presence.

Shion swung his legs over the edge of the mattress. His bare toes brushed the wooden floor, warm and comfortable and kept well-maintained by the magic that'd radiated from the drained charm. Shion sighed sleepily and pushed himself off the bed, the fabric rustling beneath him as the coverlet fell away from him.

It was only now that Shion realized he wasn't wearing the same tunic and slacks he'd been wearing when he went to church the day he'd been poisoned. He'd been dressed in a comfortable, loose white tunic and a pair of slacks that clung to his hips without the assistance of a belt. The tunic was just a bit too long for him, the hem brushing the tops of his thighs and hanging around his collar bone.

Shion crossed the room and shouldered the door open. He peered out into the cabin.

Like the room he'd been sleeping within, the rest of the cabin was crafted of strong wooden slabs and completely without windows. There was only a single room beyond, a step down from the bedroom.

Unlike the room Shion had been sleeping in, however, the room beyond was heavily decorated with crystals and dishes crafted of polished wood and stone. Charms hung from the walls in a rainbow assortment of colors, crafted of flowers Shion had never seen before and jagged crystal shards held together by firm thread. Radiant scents tickled Shion's nose as he stepped out of the room and into the den of magic.

Tendrils of magic brushed against his skin, lulling him into a sense of security while he wandered through the room to admire the charms. A little fire pit sat in the far corner, surrounded by two plush chairs draped with pretty blankets woven from soft fabric. Dying embers flickered in the pit, a clear sign that someone had been there not too long ago. Shion could feel the lingering echo of another person inside the cabin---they'd disappeared some time ago, leaving Shion alone in the cabin as a clear sign that they trusted him not to harm them when they eventually wandered back home. Or as a challenge.

Shion shook the thought from his head. _No_. The Mao weren't like the villagers in Kronos. And Shion understood that the Mao village must have been where he'd been brought. No other village would so blatantly flaunt magic, and no other village would risk taking in a witch.

The cabin Shion had woken up in didn't seem like a place he should fear. The Mao could have eliminated him if he was the threat the villagers in Kronos believed him to be. Shion had been unconscious, unable to defend himself with any of the paltry spells he comprehended. If the Mao had wanted to kill him and leave him to freeze in the middle of the forests, they could have and certainly would have.

He wandered slowly toward the single door in the cabin. He couldn't see anything of the weather outside, but the lack of another person inside the cabin gave him hope that it wasn't the middle of the evening.

As he approached the door, Shion spotted a black robe hanging from a small hook on the wall. Beside it was a note written in black ink on a small strip of white parchment. Shion squinted and leaned forward, reading the note with the light radiating from the hundreds of glowing charms.

_You're probably cold, so wear this if you decide to go outside._

_Nezumi_

Shion sucked in a deep breath. His chest clenched, a feeling of excitement washing over him. He knew, in that instant, that Nezumi had intended both the robe and the note for him. Shion reached out, plucked the robe from the hook, and drew it on.

The scents of lavender flowers tickled his nose, and Shion snuggled down into the comfort the robe provided. It was far longer than he'd anticipated; it brushed the tops of his calves, providing a shield between him and a world of mystery. He stood in front of a large, wooden door, in a cabin owned by someone Shion couldn't identify, clinging only to the stories he had of the Forest Folk.

But Nezumi had rescued him.

Nezumi had brought him to this sanctuary and nursed him back to health.

Nezumi wouldn't have done all that just to slaughter him. Nezumi wouldn't have brought him to the Mao village if he thought they would harm him for what he was.

Shion's nerves relaxed as he nudged the wooden door open and stepped outside.

The early morning world outside the cabin was bursting with color. Even with the dusting of winter's wind swirling through the air, Shion could see thousands of flowers peppering their way across the ground. Sweet, beautiful scents tickled his nose. Shion couldn't help closing his eyes and inhaling them, the dust of magic flickering around him. These flowers―endless amounts, species Shion had only seen in books―were suspended by magic, sustained even when the weather dropped below conditions their blooms could naturally survive.

The wooden cabin Shion had walked out from was crafted of deep cherry wood with a gentle layer of symbols scratched into the sides. The edges were smooth and neat, applied with a delicate hand. Shion could feel the magic radiating from it, too, warding off the chill from the winter world.

The ache in his body from the remnants of the belladonna poison disappeared beneath the magic flickering around him. He breathed in the magic and let it wash over his tired, sore muscles and work its way through his bones. These flowers were sustained by a form of magic Shion had never perfected―had never encountered―but he pulled it into his body and converted it steadily into energy, working it gently through his system and flushing out the sickness from the poison.

He stood in only a robe, but the chill from the snow couldn't touch him here. Around the cabin, it was springtime, a beautiful assortment of purple buds and roses popping from the soil. Shion had no doubt that they would glow in the middle of the night, radiating their energy for the world to see.

The world of the Mao was filled with magic and light.

Shion stepped down onto the stones, his bare feet dancing along the ground as he walked toward the end of the fence. There weren't many buildings nearby, and it reminded him of his own cabin back in Kronos. His heart ached as Shion remembered his home, his animal companions thriving in the wooden walls and rafters. He missed them all in that moment, so painfully it nearly made him collapse to the ground.

 _Stop it_ , he scolded himself. He'd left Kronos behind. There was nothing there for him except pain and misery.

Yoming might have orchestrated his poisoning, but the hunters hadn't found him in the woods. Perhaps they were still searching for him, skulking through the trees in their heavy cloaks, spears clutched in their hands, desperately seeking a glimpse of him. Maybe Yoming assumed one of the creatures dwelling in the shadows had gobbled him up, leaving nothing to find. Or perhaps Yoming had figured out that the Mao had located him and brought him to their hidden village, and he'd retreated to Kronos to wait the vengeance of the Forest Folk.

Shion supposed it didn't really matter. He wouldn't return to Kronos. And the men and women of Kronos were too terrified of magic to venture into the woods. Even if they did push through their terror and risk the darkness, Shion suspected the Mao had wards around their village that kept it well-hidden from outsiders. How else could magic thrive so blatantly?

Shion stopped dead in the center of the walkway and closed his eyes. He inhaled, deeply, and tasted the fresh scent of lavender and vanilla.

 _Magic_. True, unfiltered magic.

Shion had only dreamed of such a place.

When he busied himself with housework and gardening, he daydreamed about a world where he could perform his magic in plain view of his peers. He imagined a village full of witches like himself, folks who used their magic to heal the sick, suspend the lifespan of flowers and ward off winter's chill, and protect their loved ones from harm.

He'd crossed the seas to find a place where he could perform his magic in relative secrecy. None of it had mattered in the end. The church dragged him to the alter to perform tests that had no real meaning, and Shion lived his life in isolation. Kronos hadn't been the safe haven he'd anticipated when he made the painful decision to leave his hometown―in fact, it'd become a prison he'd never pictured escaping.

He stood in the center of the walkway, the wind washing over his hair and his cheeks, brushing away the memories of the poisoning and the village that'd tried to murder him. He gripped the robe tight and smelled the flowers, listened to the rustle of nature's song through the surrounding tree branches, and let himself disappearing into the promise that the world didn't want to destroy him.

"Oh, you're awake."

Shion turned, staring out into the surrounding forest.

Stepping out from the long column of trees was a familiar figure in a black cloak, so stunningly beautiful that Shion felt his breath leave him in a rushing wave. Nezumi's silver eyes flickered beneath the hood of his cloak, which he reached up and shoved back as he approached the walkway and surrounding garden.

Shion relaxed as Nezumi approached the fence. Unlike he had when he arrived at Shion's cabin the first time, Nezumi undid the lock keeping the tiny gate closed and stepped inside without a second thought. Shion took a step back to give him some space to enter, putting just a few slivers of distance between them.

"Good morning," Shion said, muffling it beneath a yawn that he hoped masked the rapid thumping of his heart. "It _is_ morning, isn't it?" He glanced around at the fog in the distance, the buttery sunlight trickling in through a small crush of clouds that protected the snow from melting.

"It is." Nezumi looked amused at the wonder that stretched its way across Shion's face. With the expanse of snow stretching out behind him, he looked more like some hulking black raven than a human being. The sharp angles of his features didn't help, either, giving him an almost bird-like elegance that made Shion's stomach feel as if he'd swallowed a handful of butterflies.

"You slept for another two days," Nezumi informed him.

"I did?"

"You must have been tired." Nezumi leaned against the fence and gave Shion a wide grin. "You kept mumbling in your sleep, so I assume you must have been having good dreams."

Shion heard the implication in his words, and his shoulders shot to his ears in embarrassment. "I don't dream," he said, huddling down into the neckline of the robe to hide the heat flaring up in his cheeks.

"No? Then, perhaps you were _remembering_ something?"

"Not at all," Shion retorted.

It came out far more defensive than he would have liked, and the result was immediate; Nezumi smothered a laugh, and Shion burrowed his face into the robe so Nezumi wouldn't see how embarrassed he was and keep goading him. A steady heat radiated in the air between them. Despite the embarrassment lancing its way through his veins like a fiery parasite, Shion couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at his lips.

"Well, whatever you were thinking about, don't worry to much. I wasn't around for the worst of it, and the Elder probably just tuned most of it out."

Shion blinked. "The Elder?"

"Yes, the village elder." Nezumi jerked his head toward the cabin. "That's his home."

Shion turned and looked back at the place he'd been dozing in for the past several days. From the outside, it looked simple and vacant, not a window in sight. The thick roof was thatched and strong, sturdy enough to ward off the worst of winter's storms and comfortable enough to keep the summer heat from roasting the innards.

"Oh," Shion said thoughtfully. "I thought this was _your_ cabin."

"Nope. It's a witch's cabin." Nezumi cocked his head to the side. "You couldn't tell?"

"I _could_. I just thought―" Shion furrowed his brow, not entirely certain _what_ he'd thought. So much had happened in the past few days that, even now, his mind continued to whir and spin.

Nezumi watched him, his expression cool and calculated. Shion hadn't known him for long, but he already suspected that his strange new companion wasn't one for nonsense. Eternally in control and constantly searching for any possible way to avoid a situation, Nezumi watched the world around him and surveyed its details. He might not have been a witch or crafted entirely of magic the same way Shion and other witches were, but Nezumi had lived his life surrounded by magic. Intertwining it into his daily life and using the runes etched into his clothing to hunt flawlessly, to sneak through the woods like the creature of legend Kronos believed him to be.

"I brought you to the Elder's cabin," Nezumi explained slowly, "because I have no training with healing. At least, not when it comes to poison."

"But... you were _there_."

"I was." Nezumi shrugged. "The Elder taught me how to soothe the fever. He said flower charms would help you absorb the magic and work the poison out of your system on your own, and so"―he gestured back to the cabin, to the assortment of flowers scattered across the yard that seemed as if it'd stepped out from another season entirely―"I went to your cabin and brought some of yours back."

Shion folded his hands in front of his stomach. "Thank you," he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Nezumi averted his gaze. "Don't mention it." 

Shion lowered his gaze―safe from those piercing silver irises that cut him to the bone every time he saw them. Since the moment Nezumi had breezed into his life, just before the beginning of the snowfall, Shion hadn't been able to erase the memory of those blade-sharp eyes glittering in the darkness of his cabin. He wasn't certain he ever wanted to forget.

"I came to check on you," Nezumi said, pulling Shion from his thoughts. "But since you're awake, I thought you might want to take a walk through the village."

A comfortable warmth settled in the pit of Shion's stomach. Little pinpricks peppered their way across his bare arms, and he'd never been so grateful to be wearing a robe and hiding himself from Nezumi's ever-searching gaze. "I'd like that," he murmured.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it turns out, Shion has arrived in the Mao village, a place where magic blends together with daily life so seamlessly that it might be the best place possible for him to feel at home. The old gods might not be as present in the realm as Shion once thought, but there's still magic in the Mao village, and Shion's about to discover what it's like.
> 
> This chapter's more or less an introduction to the Mao village and a few of the people Nezumi knows, so I hope you all like it! This was a really fun chapter to write, especially since it's always interesting to see the world that Nezumi lives in and how he functions.
> 
> Enjoy!

Shion sighed as gentle ruffles of cold wind whipped through his hair. He blinked into the morning light, his eyes still sensitive from days spent in complete darkness. He looked around the forest with wide eyes, taking in the sight of the little town that spread out around him.

Beautiful huts crafted of strong, dark wood squatted in haphazard rows along a makeshift dirt road. Tiny shacks and boots were draped in vibrant fabric, shielding them from the worst of the bright sunlight. It barely felt like winter at all as Shion shuffled along beside Nezumi, the ends of his cloak dragging along the snow. Nezumi had snagged it from the Elder's cabin, informing Shion that it would be far warmer than the flimsy robe he'd taken off the hook.

There weren't many folks on the street, but Shion could hear them indoors, chatting to one another and laughing at jokes only a handful of them understood. Shion turned and admired the structures, the stream of smoke rising from one where he suspected a strong fire raged in a stone hearth. The scents of pastries and fresh meat wafted through the streets like an expensive perfume, and Shion breathed them in as deeply as he could.

A vibrant red bird perched on a tree branch, staring down at Shion with beady blue eyes. A large white spot bloomed on its chest, which puffed out as it realized Shion was watching it. It trilled and flapped its tiny wings before soaring into the dark forest looming behind it―an area Shion hadn't ventured, so thick and dark that he wondered how anyone could see through it at all. Though the sun rose high above it, no light penetrated the thick copse of trees, and Shion felt a sudden sense of dread lance through his stomach.

Nezumi stepped beside him, seemingly indifferent to the imposing forest looming at his side. "It's not too far now," he said, drifting his hand through the air. His heavy black cloak fluttered in the faint breeze, but he kept his hood down even though a faint bit of color tinted his nose and cheeks.

"Where are we going?" Shion inquired.

"My cabin."

Shion's shoulders tightened at the prospect of it. He shouldn't have been as embarrassed as he was. Nezumi had seen his cabin―had fallen asleep in his bed, arm thrown across Shion's chest and hips pinned to the mattress beneath his own. It shouldn't have felt as intimate as it did, heading to see the place that Nezumi called home. Even so, Shion couldn't fight the shivers that bolted through his stomach as he thought about what kind of cabin Nezumi lived in, what furniture would be there and what stories he could tell from its presence.

Shion's shoes crunched across the snow and gravel. Beneath the layer of white, he could see sharp stones and little bits of crystal he thought might have been scattered about on purpose. He couldn't feel magic radiating from them, but that didn't mean much. Perhaps the charms had been used once before, and after their magic wore away, they'd been left to supply ambiance.

He trotted to keep up with Nezumi. His legs were a bit longer, and Shion huffed a little with exertion as he pushed himself to keep up with his pace. Nezumi, for his part, slowed down just a bit when he noticed Shion struggling. He made a face, as if he were a bit annoyed, but if he was, he kept silent about it.

"It's so beautiful," Shion said, admiring the village. The buildings were huddled together in a close, intimate way, a community rather than the uniform rows Kronos seemed to think were appropriate. Warmth radiated from each cabin, not just in the magical sense, but in a metaphoric way. Shion could sense the happiness surging from the folks who called this place home.

"Not what you were expecting, I take it?" Nezumi asked.

"Not at all. I've only―" Shion pursed his lips, suddenly embarrassed.

"You've only...?"

Shion averted his gaze, finding the shimmering blue bits of crystal peppering their way through the snow far more interesting than whatever lay ahead of him. "I've only ever heard stories in Kronos. We... don't have an understanding of the Mao tribe or what your village looked like." His cheeks flared up as the words tumbled over his teeth like water. "For a while, whenever I thought about the Mao tribe, I thought it might look like something out of a storybook. Full of giant flowers and vines and stone towers. But, then I met you, and..." Shion couldn't fight the smile that stretched its way across his face, the excitement that bubbled up inside him as he remembered how good it felt to let someone else in, to allow another person to know about his magic. "I realized everything I thought I knew about the Mao was wrong."

A muscle in Nezumi's jaw twitched.

Shion meandered alongside him, reveling in the scent of the fresh snow and the lingering brush of flower petals. Golden sunlight shimmered around them, kissing Shion's cheeks and warming him. The remnants of the poison had vanished from his system, and Shion felt fresh and new and content. He swayed as he walked, the magic of the Mao settling around him like a heavy cloak.

"So," Nezumi said after a moment of comfortable silence, looking at Shion in his periphery. His silver eyes caught in the sunlight, as beautiful and deadly as the edge of a sharp blade. "Are you disappointed, now that you know the truth?"

"No," Shion replied with a smile. "I'm not disappointed at all."

Nezumi looked ahead, his face turning just a bit red. Shion's heart swelled at the sight of it, but he avoided saying anything as they continued to wander down the dirt road, weaving between the buildings comprising the Mao village. It could have been from the winter chill, after all.

**⁂**

By the time they reached Nezumi's cabin, the sun had arced its way into the dead center of the sky. Shion was familiar enough with the passing of winter days to know that darkness would be upon them much sooner than anticipated, but the prospect of night didn't worry him as much as it did when he lived in Kronos. The arrival of night meant Shion might be dragged out of his home and hauled to the church, bound in chains and forced to recite scriptures until his throat bled and his voice disappeared, simply to prove that he wasn't a threat.

But with Nezumi standing at his side, the fears that came with the darkness vanished, and Shion could fall in love with the beauty of the stars and the winter chill. He looked into the pale blue sky, buzzing with excitement at the realization that tonight, he could step out onto the streets and twirl beneath the moonlight, laughing into the indigo twilight.

Shion tugged the collar of his cloak away from his neck, letting a brief flutter of cool wind breach the heat trapped beneath his clothing. He took a deep breath of the wild world, surrounded by magic and freedom.

"Here we are," Nezumi announced.

Shion lifted his head and stared at the beautiful cabin standing a short ways before him.

It was squat and pretty, made of the same dark wood as the rest of the buildings in the Mao tribe. Shion couldn't see any windows here, either, but it didn't frighten him. He imagined the inside of Nezumi's cabin was just as beautiful as the outside, comfortable and small in a way that made it welcoming and intimate. There was a little fence around the cabin, and peppered along the tiny walkway leading up to the wooden door were a series of vegetables with familiar scraps of fabric wrapped around the stalks, embroidered with runes of warmth and energy.

Shion froze at the edge of the fence.

Nezumi paused between the cabin and Shion, regarding him with a careful expression. His eyes flickered to the crops and plants, his shoulders squared as he waited for Shion to respond to... to the amazing, wonderful, incredibly kind thing he'd done.

"Are," Shion whispered, swallowing the lump in his throat, "are these my crops?"

"It wasn't difficult to move them," Nezumi replied with a shrug. "I know a green witch who accompanied me to your cabin and uprooted them. She suspended the enchantment and kept them alive as we transported them. Took a day, but they seem to have taken to the soil well enough."

Shion's hands trembled at his sides. He stared at the familiar scraps of fabric, his own work intermingled with the magic of the Mao tribe. He could feel the difference between their types of magic―but the more he breathed it in, the more he could sense the similarities between them. Shion's magic was amateur compared to the Mao tribes' spells, but with time, he would grow to be just as powerful, just as advanced with his abilities to create warmth and comfort.

Nezumi averted his eyes and looked at the sky, finding the clouds far more interesting than the dirt walkway he'd been nudging with his boot. "We weren't comfortable leaving your crops behind for the villagers to pick at. They didn't grow them, so they don't deserve access to them. Did you know your tomatoes have healing properties in them? You must have infused a bit of energy from your healing spells into the seeds, so the ones you plant are capable of easing pains. It's rather remarkable, really. The Elder was hoping we could study them, but I said he should wait to ask _you_ , since you're the one who―"

Shion threw his arms around Nezumi's shoulders.

Nezumi went stiff at the contact, though Shion understood that it was more out of surprise than disgust. The scent of leather and warm jasmine washed over Shion as he burrowed into Nezumi's chest, his face resting against Nezumi's shoulder.

"Thank you," Shion said, the words running over his lips faster than he could form them in his head. He could feel the happiness swelling in his chest, bubbling up inside him until it was too much to contain. "Nezumi, I—I don't know what to say. Thank you. This is... this is the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. You went through all the trouble to bring my flower charms to me, and now this? I—" A laugh cracked out of his throat, a bit wobbly as tears blurred his vision. "I don't know how to thank you for this."

Nezumi's hands settled on Shion's shoulders and squeezed. He didn't pull him away, simply gripping him and assuring him through their minimal contact that he was safe now. For the first time in years, Shion didn't worry about what the next day would bring. He didn't fear his own abilities and what the villagers might think of him.

Here, in the Mao village, Shion could be himself. He wasn't strange. His abilities weren't bizarre or evil. The Elder was impressed with what Shion could accomplish, and here, in the Mao village, Shion felt a kinship with the villagers even though he hadn't met any of them. Like a shattered glass being pieced back together, Shion felt himself sliding into place, content in a way he'd never imagined.

Heat rumbled through Shion's body, tremors overtaking him. Blood rushed in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the wind and replacing them with the pounding of his own heart. It was so loud, he barely heard it as Nezumi murmured, "You're welcome."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I am back from my small break, and I'm happy to say that I'm feeling refreshed and eager to share some of what I've been working on with all of you. Sometimes it's good to just step back and look at things with new eyes. I was a bit worried that my fics were suffering from how exhausted I've been at work, so I took a little bit of downtime to clear my head and then return with a new perspective.
> 
> My "small break" ended up being a bit longer than intended, unfortunately. My dad fell down the stairs at our apartment complex and ended up breaking his ankle in three places, so I've been a bit distracted helping him get around the house and making sure we do what the doctor says so his wound can heal properly.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter! We're getting close to the end, and I figured it was time for some well-deserved Nezushi content. These two boys need happy things to happen in their lives, and so they need to have some nice moments! So without further adieu, let's dive right into this chapter!

The room beyond the front door of Nezumi's cabin was more of a small loft with wooden floors and a domed ceiling studded with tiny baubles than the massive hut Shion was accustomed to. There were no windows, which Shion was realizing was a staple of Maoese architecture—but the walls were completely lined with bookshelves. Hundreds of leather tomes and hardcovers, thick and thin, well-worn, and still in pristine condition. Simple furniture created small, distinct living spaces: a sitting area, a dining room, a kitchen, separated from each other only by weaving columns of wooden bookshelves.

It was beautiful. Shion had spent so long surrounded by the chaos of Kronos' plain wooden buildings and lack of wildlife that being in the cottage was almost overwhelming. Both environments seemed to suit Nezumi perfectly. He fit in well with the well-structured cabin he occupied, but he could also rough it in the depths of the woods. He walked a fine line between these two worlds, blending seamlessly into each of them. Shion's heart clenched as Nezumi shut the door, cutting out the faint winter chill fluttering from beyond.

Shion followed Nezumi through the makeshift living space. He wondered if there was ever going to be a time when he stopped being amazed by Nezumi, and immediately dismissed the thought as nothing less than utterly ludicrous.

He _never_ wanted such a time to come.

Nezumi went straight for the kitchen. He shrugged his heavy black cloak off in the middle of the room, leaving it to rest in an inky puddle in the middle of the floor. Beneath it, he wore a plain brown tunic and a pair of black slacks tucked into a pair of sturdy boots.

Shion watched him cross to the shelves he had lined across the wall above the cauldron and counter he used to prepare food. The pots and pans lining the wall looked oddly familiar—and then, with heart-wrenching warmth, Shion realized they'd come from his cabin back in Kronos. Like the crops planted outside Nezumi's cabin, Shion's personal items mended comfortably into Nezumi's home.

Shion's heart sang as he watched Nezumi pull some of the supplies he'd snatched from Shion's cabin down from the wooden shelves and place them on the stone counter-tops.

"Still some chicken," he mumbled to himself, organizing the supplies and searching through the food he had stored away in his cabin. "Pretty sure that beef's no good anymore. Pretty sure it _wasn't_ good when I bought it. Never buying from that woman again."

Shion stood next to one of the bookshelves and watched while Nezumi gathered an assortment of pots and pans. In a few minutes, Nezumi was pouring water, diced vegetables, and herbs into a rather small cauldron.

"I didn't know you could cook," Shion said, marveling at the swift, precise way Nezumi began to dice up a hunk of cooked chicken from a cool storage area. "You're amazing, Nezumi."

Nezumi clicked his tongue, as if Shion had said something completely ridiculous. Shion couldn't help the wave of frustration that rushed over him like a warm wave. How could Nezumi not know how wonderful he was? After all the wonderful things he'd done in such a short time, all the energy he'd expended to bring Shion into his village, uproot his crops and replant them in his own yard, and bring Shion's important items into his cabin for safe-keeping, how could Nezumi _not_ know that he was the most amazing person Shion had ever met?

Shion closed his eyes and decided to focus on something else before. He wandered steadily around the cabin, looking around at the bookshelves. He couldn't read several of the titles imprinted on the leather spines, but he sensed that they would keep him occupied for years if he could only take the time to learn the language.

Nezumi's cabin was slightly larger than Shion's; he couldn't imagine how Nezumi had come to own such a large-sized home when he appeared to be the only one living within it. His heart ached as he realized that Nezumi might not have intended to live alone in this cabin, but he knew that was a conversation for another time.

The sturdy boards muffled Shion's footsteps as he floated around the cabin, marveling at the designs etched into the walls and the decorative objects hanging from the walls. As he looked around, he imagined how his flower charms would look spread out across the walls, hanging from the ceiling, embedded between Nezumi's decorations. His face flushed at the thought—he didn't even know if Nezumi intended to let him stay—and Shion turned and headed back toward the kitchen.

Nezumi had mixed a few chunks of fresh meat in a cauldron with some broth and vegetables. Shion wondered if the vegetables might have come from his crops; he suspected Nezumi might not indulge without asking him, but Shion felt a shock of excitement at the thought of Nezumi harvesting his crops to use for dinner.

Shion stared at the slight smile gracing Nezumi's lips. His hard, distant companion came to life in these calm moments, and Shion hovered in the center of the cabin like a wraith. He watched the boy relax in the heart of his home, stirring the contents of the cauldron with a smile so faint Shion imagined it would blow away like a gentle winter frost at a moment's notice. The long strands of Nezumi's dark hair sat at the back of his head, clinging to the nape of his neck as the warm steam from the cauldron sent delicious scents around the room.

"That smells wonderful," Shion murmured.

"Old family recipe," Nezumi replied with a casual shrug. "Well, in a manner of speaking. Just something I picked up with time, I suppose." He gave the cauldron's contents a firm stir and then covered the pot with the heavy lid. "I'm a bit better at making it now than I was in my younger years."

"Your younger years?" Shion titled his head to the side and scrutinized the smooth lines of Nezumi's face and the lean muscle of his forearms and shoulders. "You're still young."

Nezumi huffed. "Not as young as I once was."

"Do the Mao live longer?"

Nezumi raised an eyebrow. "Than who? The folks in your village? No, we don't live longer. Although..." His lips pressed into a thin line, and looked up at the wooden ceiling. Woven among the slats were branches woven with colorful fabric and little bushels of twigs and leaves that Shion realized were birds' nests. "Our healers are far more advanced than those in Kronos. Not many die from illness or injury, unless the initial wound is far too complex to repair in time. Most of us die of natural causes, so in that sense, I suppose we _do_ live longer than most."

Shion nodded slowly, taking in the information and pushing it aside for later. His talents with herbs and comprehension of the medicinal aspects of magic granted him the opportunity to be an impeccable healer. In Kronos, there had been no chance to offer his services. Nezumi had been his first and only patient—he didn't count Safu or his mother, as Shion had only ever needed to implement minor pain relievers for headaches and muscle sores—and Shion appeared to have done a halfway decent job. A shimmer of pride trembled through him as he took in the way Nezumi held himself, the way his shoulder appeared to have healed without difficulty beneath his ministrations.

Nezumi bustled away from the cauldron while the soup—Shion assumed it was soup, with his own paltry understanding of cooking, both elixirs and dinner—and wandered into the makeshift living space. "The village elder said he'd like to meet with you," he explained over his shoulder, "but we'll take care of that tomorrow. You're still recovering."

"I don't mind going tonight," Shion said, but the thought of wandering through the Mao village, while exciting, made him feel exhausted. The belladonna poison had worked its way out of his system, but the illness had sapped the majority of his strength, and wandering from the Elder's cabin to Nezumi's had taken almost all the energy he'd built up. When at last he dropped into bed that evening, he knew he'd sleep like the dead.

"No, it's fine. The elder's probably occupied with other business. We'll go tomorrow in the late morning." Nezumi shrugged. "You'll probably want to meet some of the others, too, if you intend to stay on as a healer."

Shion's whole body felt light. "You think they'll allow me?"

"The Elder was impressed with the healing properties of your crops. He thinks you have a natural talent for it." Nezumi averted his eyes; if Shion didn't know better, he would have thought Nezumi was blushing. "And besides, you did a decent job fixing up my shoulder, so the Elder—and I—think you'd be an exceptional addition to the village."

Shion's heart sang. He looked down at the floor between them, happiness singing through his veins. He smiled, so wide it hurt his face, and even when he heard Nezumi mutter something about how ridiculous he looked grinning like a complete madman, he heard the distinct edge of a smile in Nezumi's voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone! I am so sorry that this fic has gone on such a long hiatus. It was definitely not my intention. Things got a bit hectic for me with my two jobs and graduate school, but I've taken some big steps to give myself some free time to relax and do things I enjoy. I'm down to working one job, and school has been managed a bit better than it was in the beginning. Therefore, I was able to find time to write and get prepared to finish up this fic, as well as my other writing project.
> 
> I know the last chapter was a short one, so this one's a bit longer for all of you to make up for it! Shion's going to meet the Elder. Now that there's a potential for him to get involved in being a healer, we'll see just what Shion has to do in order to take those next steps!
> 
> Please enjoy the chapter, y'all! I worked very hard on it!

The forests were comfortably quiet. No strange melodies from winter songbirds trilled through the windows of the Mao Elder’s cabin, pulling at Shion’s mind, and lulling him into a state of peace. He’d been feeling this way since Nezumi led him through the village streets and to the hut tucked in the far corner of the town that served as the Elder’s work quarters.

The Elder’s cabin smelled of loam and wet earth and the floral scents of eternal spring. It made Shion nostalgic for his own cabin, the home he’d built from scratch—the home Nezumi had steadily pulled apart, piece by piece, and transported through the woods with the help of a green witch named Tana whose soft magic preserved Shion’s plants until they could be replanted in the soil. Branches from silver trees hung over the little garden in the back of the Elder’s hut, leaves scraping the sides of the hut and bristling in the wind.

A squirrel with russet fur tumbled in the grass beyond the open door; the Elder insisted on letting the cool, end-of-winter wind chase the heat out of his hut. Despite the cold, Shion felt oddly comfortable, the thin cloak he’d been given effectively warming him.

Nezumi had brought Shion to the Elder’s cabin and then left him with a whispered promise that he would return before the sun went down. Having slept late into the morning, Shion suspected that Nezumi had other business in the village to focus his attention on. If what Nezumi had told him was true, he’d spent much of his time tending to Shion when he worked the belladonna poison out of his system. It made Shion’s heart flutter to realize that Nezumi had stayed by his side for days, mopping sweat from his brow and soothing him when a feverish nightmare gripped his thoughts.

“It’s a wonder to meet you,” the Elder had said once Nezumi bid Shion farewell for the day. His low, crackling voice reminded Shion of the judgmental priest overseeing Kronos, but the kindness in his tone melted those concerns. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a witch with your potential.”

The Mao village generated witches. The Elder had explained that to him, quickly laying out the ways in which magic permeated the air surrounding the Mao village, bleeding into the forests itself and seeping into the soil like water. Crops grew strong enough to survive even the coldest winters. Animals that thrived in the Mao forest were far more intelligent than those who had not, able to conceal themselves from outsiders. Shion wondered if these animals were the ones the hunters in Kronos sought; if so, it would certainly explain their lack of success in their hunts.

Shion glanced up at the ceiling of the Elder’s cabin. Vines and branches crosshatched the rafters in a way that made his heart ache for his own cabin back in Kronos. He didn’t miss the village. He didn’t miss the leers of the terrified villagers, the hatred and distrust in Yoming’s face, but he _did_ miss the cabin he’d spent years piecing together. The hours he’d spent using his magic to invite the plants inside, the exhausting weeks he’d spent planting the seeds and infusing them with his magic until he was too weak to pull himself from the bed. Nezumi might have been able to relocate his plants and belongings to the Mao village, finding places in his own home for them, but even so, Shion couldn’t deny that it made him a bit sad to know he’d never see his cabin again.

“I am glad you survived long enough to make it to us,” the Elder went on. He hadn’t spoken for a while, sitting across from Shion from his perch on the floor.

When Shion had first entered the cabin, the first thing he’d noticed was that the Elder sat cross-legged on the floor, propped up by a cushion. The second was the assortment of bird bones, feathers, and sharpened stones woven in his unruly silver hair. And third, once Shion crouched down on the floor in front of him, was that the Elder’s legs were missing from the knees down.

“I am, too,” Shion replied.

“Nezumi had told us something felt… off.” A bright light twinkled in the Elder’s dark eyes. At first, Shion thought they were just a dark shade of brown, but after leaning closer, he could see the edge of scarlet making up the Elder’s eyes. “He went to go check on you, and that’s where he found you on the edge of our forest. It’s a good thing he managed to find you when he did. A few moments later, and we might have been unable to save you.”

Shion understood that. His strength had slowly begun to return the longer he stayed surrounded by the natural magic permeating the plants in the Mao village. And yet, despite that, Shion could still remember how it felt to collapse into the snow, the belladonna poison working its way through his veins and shutting down his innards.

“Which leads me to the main point of our visit,” the Elder went on. “Nezumi informed me that you are not immune to poisons.”

“No,” Shion said, shaking his head. “I’m not.”

“Witches are not naturally born with a poison immunity,” the Elder explained. “While magic can form within an individual’s body, the ability to resist poisons comes from rituals. As there are many witches in our village, it has become more of a rite of passage than a necessity to become immune to poisons.”

Shion couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corner of his lips. “I’ve never met another witch before now. Before I came to Kronos, I spent so much time hiding my abilities that it never occurred to me to try and find another. And once I arrived in Kronos, I realized I was the only one. People feared what I could do—allegedly, as I never told them—and I kept it a secret.”

“I understand. Though, to have come so far in your studies without another witch to guide you… I am impressed.”

Shion lowered his head, his cheeks heating up. “Thank you. I tried things I learned in books, and it just felt… natural.”

“Your abilities likely manifested in your youth, and even without guidance, it makes sense that you would be able to learn a few abilities on your own. But, Nezumi has told me of the state of your cabin, as well as the plants you grew. He also informed me of how you helped him when he was injured.” The Elder’s lips tugged upward at the corners. “You helped him, even though you had no reason to trust him. Some might call that foolish.”

“I couldn’t let him suffer like that,” Shion explained. “When I saw him standing there, I couldn’t just leave him.”

“Your kindness is admirable. Nezumi is lucky to have stumbled across your cabin. It seems the Lady of the Forest wished for him to find you so that _you_ could find _us_.”

Shion smiled.

“However,” the Elder went on, “the most important thing is that you are here with us now. You are a member of the Mao village, as far as I am concerned.”

Shion’s heart clenched, not with sorrow, but with a happiness he hadn’t felt in years. Since the day the church had dragged him before the altar and violently questioned him about his witchcraft, some hollow part of Shion had feared his abilities. It worried him that something he’d been born with made people want to hurt him.

And yet…

And _yet_ …

It was as if every force in the universe had guided him toward this moment. Some unseen force had made Nezumi happen upon him in the woods, and that same force had guided Nezumi to his cabin when he’d been injured. Every moment they’d spent together had been leading them toward this day, this singular instant in which Shion’s abilities as a witch could expand. Excitement prickled through him like tiny bolts of lightning.

“While you might be a witch,” the Elder said, “there are a few things you will need to perfect. It will not happen overnight—but Nezumi assures me that you are eager to learn.”

“I am,” Shion said, nodding.

“Excellent. There are rituals that must be completed to solidify your abilities. The first is the ritual of poison.” The Elder folded his wrinkled hands in front of his chest. “If you ask any of the witches here in the village, they will tell you that their first official test as a witch was to make themselves immune to toxins. This begins by making a pact with a plant whose properties link to poison and beseeching it not to harm you.”

Shion nodded slowly. He had to admit that it sounded a bit strange. If he hadn’t known about the magical side of things, he knew he would have a difficult time understanding what was meant by ‘making a pact’ with plant life.

However, having infused flowers and vines with his energy and his spiritual essence for years, Shion understood that a pact was another form of spiritual infusion. By twisting the spiritual essence in his heart, Shion could fortify his body against the plant’s natural toxins and ensure that the poison would filter itself out of his body as soon as it entered his body.

“Once you’ve made your pacts, the world of magic will open for you. Your current skills are quite advanced. Just imagine how powerful you would be once you have no restrictions.”

Shion’s fingers fiddled with the hem of his tunic. He had to admit that it made him excited to know that there was more he could do with his magic. Another side he could access once the blinders and emotional chains were removed.

Nezumi had given Shion a few hints as to what the rituals would entail. He knew little about the process—though Nezumi had ties to magic and adorned himself with runes of power, Shion had been told that most of the villagers in the Mao kingdom had clothing and weapons and tools with magic runes adorned on them by their witchy neighbors. The actual witches spent their time weaving charms, tending to the crops, and ensuring that the Mao’s magical aspects were well-maintained.

“I understand you’ve had a difficult life,” the Elder went on. His voice dipped, softer than Shion had ever heard it since the moment they’d met. When he looked up, the Elder was regarding him with a look akin to pity. “It can be difficult growing in a world that doesn’t understand your abilities. But, you are here with us now. And if you wish, we can proceed as early as tomorrow night.”

“What does the ritual entail?” Shion asked.

“Simply put, we light a flame, and you sit before it while beseeching a plant of your choice. We will give you a sprig of your selected plant, and you will hold it throughout the duration of the ritual, until it is time to surrender it to the Lady of the Forest. Eventually, you will need to do it with any toxic plant you wish to gain immunity over, but for now, we will begin with one. The ritual can be a bit… intense the first time.”

Shion pressed his lips together. He’d suspected as much. Often, even small rituals demanded a large amount of energy. Shion understood what the Elder was implying without him needing to say it. For the ritual to work, Shion would need to pull the toxin from the plant and into his body. It would be done slowly enough that it wouldn’t physically harm him, but he would need to attune his body to the feeling of the toxin, urging his cells to reject the poisonous side effects and ensuring that future interactions with the plant would bring no harm to him.

“I understand if you have some apprehension,” the Elder went on. “But I assure you, Shion, we want you to be part of our village. Your abilities are unlike anything I’ve ever encountered. There’s a reason the Lady of the Forest brought you to us, after all.”

“Yes,” Shion agreed. “I’m grateful to the Lady of the Forest for bringing me and Nezumi together.”

The Elder’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “He’s quite fond of you. He’ll deny I said this, of course, but when you were recovering, he rarely left your side.”

Shion had already suspected as much, but he still blushed, all the same. His shoulders shot to his ears, and he felt his skin burn as the Elder laughed. It wasn’t a judgmental sound. In fact, it made Shion feel warm, happy in a way he hadn’t been in years. He couldn’t help but revel in the excitement that fell over him like a curtain.

After a moment of gentle silence, the Elder said, “Once Nezumi returns, I’ll inform him that you intend to complete the ritual tomorrow evening. He’ll want to be present for it.”

Shion nodded. He’d want Nezumi to be there, too. He couldn’t help but wonder what Nezumi was up to in the village. After he dropped Shion off at the Elder’s hut, he informed him that he would return before the sun went down, but he’d given no indication as to where he’d be. Shion wondered if he was gathering supplies for the other witches. Or perhaps he was returning to the cabin in Kronos and stripping it down piece by piece so the other villagers wouldn’t be able to utilize its resources. Though Shion knew it was better for the villagers not to have access to anything that had once contained his magic, he felt a sliver of sorrow at the realization that his cabin was gone. Swept away and broken apart, as if he’d never been in Kronos before.

“Well,” said the Elder. “Since we have some time before Nezumi returns to fetch you, how about we make some tea? I would love to hear more about your abilities.”

Shion nodded, unclenching himself from the floor. His muscles ached, but Shion welcomed it. He hurried to the counter in the Elder’s hut, where ceramic jars held loose leaf tea.

And he spoke. As the forests whispered their little stories and woodland critters rustled around in the tree branches, Shion told the Elder all about his abilities. He told him about the flowers he’d infused with his essence, the lights he could manifest in baubles, and the healing tonics he could make by crushing petals together with boiled water and smashing them into a fine paste.

And the Elder listened, nodding his head and chuckling as Shion spoke about his life, his abilities, and his excitement at having been welcomed to readily into the Mao village. Not for the first time, Shion found himself overwhelmed by the hospitality of the Mao village.

His new home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And just like that, my loves, we've come to the end of And The Forest Whispers. Thank you so much to everyone who's been supportive of me throughout the duration of this fic! Your comments, kudos, and thoughts have meant a lot to me getting through this, and I promise to keep delivering the best content I can to you all here on Archive and my other writing platforms!
> 
> Sine, your concept made this into an amazing story! I really hope that you've enjoyed it, and I hope that this fic exceeded your expectations!
> 
> And now it's time for some much deserved Nezushi content! Now that Shion's officially immune to belladonna and has begun his journey toward learning a different set of magic, he's starting to develop a life within the Mao tribe where he can be himself without consequences.

“Are you certain you want to do this?” Nezumi asked. He crouched beside Shion on the ground. The sun had long since set, a blur of pink splashing across the sky and breaking apart the dark indigo. Diamond stars peppered the expanse, the moon nowhere in sight.

 _A perfect night for magic_ , the Elder had said as he positioned himself on a strange wooden board to be carted down to the bonfire. He’d gone down well before Nezumi brought Shion to the ritual to prepare for the ritual.

“Yes,” Shion said, nodding once. A heavy green cloak hung around his shoulders. During the afternoon, the blond witch, Tana, that Nezumi had assisted delivered it to Nezumi’s cabin.

 _For your ritual_ , she’d said, giving Shion a welcoming smile that made his heart melt. Even though he hadn’t begun his rituals, the witches in the Mao village were eager to welcome him. He’d received plenty of smiles and nods as Nezumi guided him down to the bonfire, a large heap of split logs that loomed as Shion approached.

Shion tried hard to ignore the anxiety that gnawed at the edge of his stomach. He hadn’t slept well last night. After Nezumi arrived to bring him back to their shared cabin—Nezumi had moved Shion into his cabin without asking, but Shion wasn’t complaining—they’d walked together in silence. Shion’s fingers trembled.

And then, halfway to the cabin, Nezumi’s hand crept out and took hold of Shion’s. _You look cold_ , he’d said, and when Shion glanced over at him, it was too dark to see the splash of color on his face.

 _Thank you_ , Shion had replied, squeezing Nezumi’s hand back.

Nezumi hadn’t left him throughout the evening. He’d lingered at Shion’s side, fussing about like a mother hen. Shion found it endearing.

But sitting in front of the unlit bonfire now, Shion felt nothing but anxiety twisting through him. His gaze flickered over to the Elder, sitting on the ground on the opposite side of the bonfire. Surrounding him, several men and women dressed in dark, fur-lined cloaks hovered in a semi-circle around the circle, chatting amongst themselves. A woman with short hair laughed at something a man looming beside her whispered.

A tall man with long, glossy black hair scowled at the Elder’s side. The Elder, for his part, looked calm, a mug of something hot and herbal in his hand. Shion could smell it from the place where he sat, the cloak protecting him from the cold snow spread out beneath him.

Nezumi sat beside Shion, his shoulder brushing against Shion's. The Elder had informed Shion that he would participate in the ritual alone, but he hadn't mentioned anything about Nezumi not being allowed to stay at his side. Shion was grateful for his presence. Though he would endure whatever the ritual entailed on his own, knowing that Nezumi was sitting beside him and would continue to do so throughout the process quelled some of the nerves.

"Whatever happens," Nezumi murmured, and Shion's skin prickled at the feeling of his warm breath against his cheek. "Just remember that I'm here. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Shion nodded. Sweat dripped down his temples despite the winter chill. His eyes flickered to the Elder as he handed his mug to the man looming at his side. He cracked his fingers, and as he lifted his palms into the air, the assembly of men and women surrounding the site of the bonfire went silent.

"Welcome, my friends," he announced, the cool winter wind carrying his voice high above them. "We gather today to observe the arrival of a new witch." He tipped his head toward Shion, whose shoulders shot to his ears. "There have always been those who are born with natural ties to magic. Beyond the walls of our village, those who internalize this magic are scorned, feared, and, oftentimes, slaughtered for embracing their truth."

A low murmur rose from the crowd.

"Hundreds of years ago," the Elder went on, "the Lady of the Forest guided our ancestors to this place. Our magic permeated the trees and the soil, ensuring that future generations would continue these ties to magic. Through this, we have continued to preserve our culture and our spiritual ties to the Lady of the Forest. We thank Her for Her blessing, and with Her will, we welcome a new witch into our order."

The Elder made a sweeping gesture toward Shion. Another murmur of excitement crept from them, and Shion felt Nezumi's shoulder bump against his own. He lowered his head and mumbled a gentle, "Thank you," though he wasn't certain if he was meant to speak. If he wasn't, no one admonished him.

"You were born with impressive magic," the Elder said, addressing Shion this time. "We have taken your plants and crops from the cabin you owned in the small village nearby, the village that has desperately tried to locate ours to no avail. Your magic is impressive. Your skills are advanced for someone who has taught themself, and though you have not made your pacts with plant life, you have survived an attempt on your life through belladonna poisoning."

Shion remembered the burn of the plant's toxins through his body. He remembered how it felt to collapse to the ground and feel his breath rushing out of him. He remembered how it felt to almost die—and he also remembered how good it felt to realize he was alive.

The Elder glanced over at the assortment of villagers. "It is time to light the fire." He turned to regard the man towering at his side. "Sasori, if you would?"

The man picked something off from the ground at the Elder's side. He carried it around the unlit logs and held it out for Shion to take. The dark purple bulbs made Shion's stomach clench. His fingers trembled as he plucked the sprig out of the man's hand.

"Belladonna almost took you from this world," the Elder explained. "Therefore, it makes sense that the first plant you should make a pact with is the one that almost destroyed you."

Shion twisted the sprig of belladonna in his hand. The purple bulbs were unmistakable. He felt Nezumi shift at his side, edging closer. Instead of feeling clustered or self-conscious, Shion felt empowered by Nezumi's presence. He reached out with his free hand and gave Nezumi's hand a squeeze, assuring him without words that he was unharmed, that he was ready to do this ritual and endure whatever it demanded of him.

Half a moment later, Sasori lit the bonfire. Shion watched as the flames licked at the logs, consuming them and spreading rapidly. Shion didn't see when it caught; it happened so quickly, he wondered if Sasori was a witch, too.

The flames consumed the logs, the heat blowing outward and crackling into the evening sky. Shion peered through the haze and saw the Elder chanting low under his breath. All at once, the sounds rose from the semi-circle of villagers.

Shion squeezed the belladonna in his hand. Clutching Nezumi's in his own, Shion closed his eyes and reached down into the plant resting in the palm of his hand. The ritual was simple, in its own right. Shion's goal was to yank the energy from the plant and blend it into his own body. He'd never considered doing such a thing before. He'd pulled strength from plants before, but he'd never tried to combine the toxins with his body for the purpose of making himself immune to its negative side effects.

The light from the bonfire bled through his closed lids, turning the whole world a dark shade of crimson. He exhaled slowly, focusing on the sensation of the belladonna's dark green leaves in his hand, The tips of his fingers brushed over the edges of the leaves, brushing the purple bulbs and remembering how it felt for the poison to twist its way through his veins.

The sounds of the chanting blurred together into a strange buzzing that resonated around him. He could hear Nezumi's voice droning at his side, the words slipping away into the winter wind. Shion didn't focus on the words; instead, he focused on the feeling of the belladonna in his hand, the energy radiating through its little body and the deathly poison that dwelled within.

Pulling the plant's energy into his own body was second nature to Shion at this point. Wind tickled his cheeks, his eyelashes brushing against his cheeks as his eyelids flickered. He urged them to stay closed. If he opened them now, he'd lose his focus, and he'd have to begin the ritual all over again.

It shouldn't have taken long. Shion knew that. Pulling energy from flowers had always been something Shion was good at, a skill he'd mastered over the years. It shouldn't have been different with the belladonna.

Except that it was. As soon as Shion began to pull the plant's strength into his body, he could feel the bite of its toxin in his blood. Pain formed in a prickly ball in the pit of his stomach, steadily growing the longer Shion held the sprig in the palm of his hand.

Sweat trickled down the back of his neck. Shion cradled the plant in his hand, his fingers trembling around it. The warmth of Nezumi's hand in his own kept him grounded as the pain spread through his veins like fire. A dull burning ember cracked through his skin, embedding itself in each inch of his being, wedging itself into his bones and his muscles and his organs.

Yoming couldn't hurt him anymore. The belladonna he'd slipped in Shion's drink couldn't hurt him—hadn't hurt him since the moment he set foot inside the Mao village.

Shion offered a prayer to the Lady of the Forest. He thanked Her for guiding Nezumi to him. He thanked Her for helping him escape Yoming and survive his brush with death. He thanked Her for welcoming him into the Mao village and ensuring that he had a chance to survive in a world that clearly feared magic.

He must have made a sound, because he felt Nezumi's fingers tighten around his own. "You're all right," Nezumi whispered. He'd leaned closer, his lips brushing against Shion's cheek as he spoke. "I'm here. You're all right."

His muscles ached. Shion exhaled and felt the energy from the belladonna spring swirling inside him. His stomach felt painfully tight, the muscles in his arms and legs tightening the longer he sat in front of the bonfire. The heat brushed against his skin, the heavy green cloak sitting around his shoulders and shifting in the gently blowing wind. His spine ached as he sat, painfully still, focusing on the energy from the tiny plant in his hand.

Shion exhaled, the pains prickling through his body beginning to subside. The energy from the belladonna sprig was beginning to sway.

Nezumi brushed his thumb over Shion's knuckles. Shion's skin was slick and cold, but Nezumi's hand warmed him. He leaned into Nezumi's touch, focusing on the feeling of the poison blending into his body, settling into his blood.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it ended. The light radiating from the sprig of belladonna dissipated as the last droplets of its essence transferred from its broken stalk and into Shion's muscles.

He exhaled and opened his eyes. The bonfire crackling in front of him sent prickles of pain through his retinas. Shion winced, but he focused on opening them again and shoving through the dull ache throbbing in his skull.

It felt similar enough to how he'd felt waking up from the poisoning. But unlike that time, Shion could feel the dull aches vanishing the longer he sat in front of the fire. He dropped the empty sprig of belladonna to the snow in front of him.

The chanting from the assortment of villagers continued, but it was happier this time. Louder. Shion peered through the flames and saw the Elder smiling at him. He continued to chant, but Shion suspected it had shifted into something akin to celebration.

Nezumi squeezed his hand again, and Shion glanced over at him. Nezumi smiled, and it looked beautiful on his face. The flames danced on his cheekbones, sharpening them and heightening his features. His luminous silver eyes sparkled; in them, Shion saw an infinite amount of love. Unconditional and perfect and something Shion never imagined he deserved.

Shion knew that this was just the beginning. There would be more rituals. More chances for him tp heighten his magic and make his pacts. And once those concluded, Shion's education into the magical arts would continue.

But for now, Shion reveled in the warmth radiating from the bonfire. He leaned forward, squeezing Nezumi's hand, reveling in the strength radiating from the other boy. He felt Nezumi's lips brush against his cheek; Shion smiled.

Beneath the dark sky, peppered with stars, Shion listened to the sounds of the Mao villagers chanting, welcoming him into his new home. The forests whispered, the ancient forces embedded within them acknowledging the new witch who'd stepped into their midst and carved a comfortable niche for himself in their midst. Shion exhaled, his breath billowing out in front of him, and reveled in the promise of his new life. The village that'd welcomed him with open arms, and the boy who's love had allowed him to escape the darkness of his old home.

Shion squeezed Nezumi's hand and laughed as the chanting swelled around him, the wind swallowing his happiness and casting it about like a snowstorm, so that the whole world could feel it, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interested in some more awesome No.6 stuff and other random nonsense? Then come hang out with me on Tumblr: **https://glorifiedscapegoat.tumblr.com/**


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